Gone With The Wind
by JMHaughey
Summary: "I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow." - Scarlett O'Hara; Begins with Tony's quest to find Ziva. Interactions and repercussions.  Tags for S7 through current.
1. Here We Go

_**A/N This picks up during Truth or Consequences. . . It will finish up with the current season. **_

A little something for the hiatus.

Thanks JSQ & Cindy for the read-through

Disclaimer: I got nothing.

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><p>I walk out of Abby's lab with no direction. Faintly, I hear Tim call my name. Gibbs tells him to just let me go. It is probably for the best. I don't really want to be around anyone right now. In a fog, I get in my car, leave the Navy Yard and head to ourwatering hole - well, I guess now it isn't ours, but I go there anyways.<p>

As I sit down at the bar, I notice that Brett is working. Thank god, he knows me. I signal for him and he saddles up, "Hiya, Tony! What can I get for you?"

"Something strong."

"That kind of day."

"You have no idea."

He doesn't prod. He knows if I have something to say I'll share it but right now pleasantries are not what I need.

He comes back with a Long Island Iced Tea. Perfect. I take the straw out and guzzle it down. The mixture of the concoction burns my esophagus, but I finish it quickly and slam the glass back onto the bar. In mere seconds, I've downed another drink. Then another and another.

Brett comes back over to tell me I'm done. "Who do you want me to call?"

"Ziva." Images of Ziva, Gibbs' voice and the feeling of a gun pointed at my chest flitter about in my my mind. The statement, _Damocles went down in a storm. The twenty-eighth of May, off the coast of Somalia. There were no survivors – _comes stomping over all the other images. She's dead. She's gone. So much of left unsaid. So much we never shared. The last time I saw her, she was so angry. She knocked me on my ass. She stayed in Israel, putting literal miles between us. She didn't call, write or e-mail. I failed. I did my best to protect her. I failed. Would I do it again? Yes.

He takes my phone and calls. "No answer."

"There wouldn't be. Try McGee."

Brett hangs up the phone again. "He's coming."

I nod and take my phone. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>I can feel McGee's eyes pierce through me. He knows better than to say anything. He helps me to his car and drives me home. I know that he wants to say something. . . anything, but it doesn't matter. He can't fix it. No one can.<p>

Yeah, we've lost people. It's part of the job. It doesn't get easier. When it does, that might be the cue to get out.

But with Ziva, it's different. I intend to exhaust every avenue of investigation.

Tim leaves me. Alone. There's no way I can work tomorrow in this condition. Gibbs will be pissed if I don't show up. I stumble to kitchen to grab a glass water. I gurgle it down with the same intensity as those drinks I had not long ago. I think I need aspirin and pillow, right now. Except, the aspirin will only numb some of the pain I inflicted on myself. The aspirin won't take away the pain that is filling my entire body with a gamut of emotions of sadness, rage, love, jealously, vengeance and longing. Listening to a movie usually calms me but every movie I want to pick just reminds me of her. Turning the knife in my body slightly more.

I collapse in bed. Memories swirl in my head. Her laugh, her breath on my neck, her flubbing of the English language, her body pressing up against mine, her voice. Everything about her. Every goddamn fucking thing.

In a cold sweat, I sit up in bed. As I wake up, I look over the clock, my gun obscures the bottom of the clock, I squint trying to figure out what time it is. It doesn't matter, time is relative. I raise my hand and rub my face. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _I can feel the hammer attacking the back of my head. I reach over for more aspirin. I'm going to need something stronger. To survive this. To mask this hurt even though I can still feel it.

I tried to drink the memory of Director Shepard away but this hole is wider, deeper, and more black.

_No survivors _swirls in my head.

Officer Ziva Fucking David. Mossad Liaison. She kills people with credit cards. She's my partner. She has disappeared into the wind before. Sometimes I think that she should have just pulled the trigger. That would have been better than this. I will find who did this and when I do, watch out. . .

* * *

><p>The next day, the sunglasses are on as I get off the elevator. Gibbs and McGee are already working. They look up at me and nod. I sit down and stare at the desk across from me, forgetting for just a moment that Ziva will not be joining us today or any other day for that matter. <em>Hold it together. Eight hours. You can do this. You have to do this. Fuck.<em>

Boss Man's phone rings, bringing me back to reality. That's the cue. "Grab your gear."

Another day. Another crime. Another night.

* * *

><p><strong><em>To be continued. . . <em>**


	2. Riddle

Thanks JSQ for the read-through

A/N: All chapter titles are from _All Points Bulletin _by Dispatch.

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><p><em>Another night. . .<em>

I lay awake in bed, foregoing my usual state of remembering, or is it forgetting? I have a shot every night, but I can't keep drinking if I'm going to figure out what happened to Ziva. I suspect that her loving father has something to do with this, but he's plays everything close to the heart. (Well, if he had a heart.)

Over the years Ziva has come in and out of my life, our lives, so many times that I've lost count. (Alright, maybe I do remember.) For what it's worth, no matter what happens between Ziva and I, we always find her. Sure, we've gone through some rough patches but all partners do. My gut tells me to keep searching. Can I guess what happened to her? Sure. Ziva takes her orders from above seriously, especially if they come from her father. What kind of father sends in daughter on a mission like this? Thinking about my answer just fires me up more. A wise man once said - we do not guess, assume, presume or prognosticate. I take the liberty of doing that anyway.

I throw the covers off and get dressed. I do my best work at night. No one is around to talk to me or ask questions. All my crazy conspiracy theories can be quieted if I'm at my desk. Plus, I have a fifth of vodka in my desk and clean clothes because sleep will come later, if at all. Right now, I need to find out who is responsible for the death of Ziva David.

* * *

><p><em>Another crime. . .<em>

After a few months, McGee, Abby and I gather enough intel to present the case to Gibbs and Vance. Saleem Ulman needs be stopped before another person dies. We are federal agents, he killed one of our own, and he needs to be punished. We have to change the circumstances. That we will.

Timmy and I board the plane heading to the Horn of Africa. We have our plan of attack. We go over it so many times there is nothing left to question, nothing left to answer. We don't talk much on the plane. We don't have to. Either we are making it home or not. That's the risk.

_Change the circumstances. _

I have taken lives. I have wished people dead. But I've never travelled half way around the world to kill someone. Vengeance. I have thought about this man, this terrorist, this supposed martyr for the cause for months. This man took away someone I can't live without. Well, I guess I can live without her but every day is struggle. I know, I know we didn't part on the best of terms. I had nothing left to say to her as I was boarding the plane in Israel. She didn't want anything to do with me. Sure, I killed her boyfriend, but he was manipulative and taking advantage of her. I did it for her. Does she know that? Did she figure it out?

It's a long flight so I brought a couple movies with me. Not that I am really concentrating on them until I hear it. A clue, or maybe a coincidence. No, there are rules against that. But, I can't help chuckling when I remember Saleem's real name is Macreedy. Really? Just like the gentleman in _Bad Day at Black Rock. _Spencer Tracy with the one arm. Then it makes sense. It all makes sense. I'm really Macreedy – but instead of a train, I have a plane. I'm the stranger who arrives in the small desert town in search of a man. Just like Macreedy, the loss of my left arm leaves me to drink and wallow. Ziva is my left arm.

* * *

><p><em>Another day. . .<em>

I'm sitting here, bound to a chair while Timmy lays on the ground a couple feet away. Mr. Macreedy provides me with some truth serum. He's asking questions about my team. Right now, I don't give a fuck. I just want him to be dead, but I guess that's not how this works. So, I reveal some facts about my team with carefully crafted answers we formulated ahead of time. It doesn't really matter what I say to him because he is going to be dead soon. I have to provoke him because I need him to reveal information, too. I'm the wildcard. He thinks I'm insane. He's wrong.

"You're not only wrong. You're wrong at the top of your voice."

Fucking.

Bastard.

Ziva is alive. He knew all along. That fucking bastard.

He sits her right in front of me. She's here. She's alive. She's not dead. She still looks beautiful despite the bruises and the sunken eyes.

Ziva David is here.

I really have no words. All these months of not sleeping, drinking and working were totally and completely worth it.

"You should have left me alone."

"Tried. Couldn't."

* * *

><p><strong>Let me know what you think. <strong>


	3. Cover This

Thanks JSQ for the read-through, again!

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><p>Conversation is sparse on the plane ride back home. Gibbs and McGee rest their eyes. My focus is still on Ziva. I just stare at her. She has bouts of sleep as well. Not me, though; I feel like if I close my eyes this dream will end – and it won't be real and I'll just I wake up back in my apartment alone and feeling lost.<p>

Every time she opens her eyes, my words fail and flub on the tip of my tongue. I have so much to say but this is neither the time nor the place. Emotions run rampant. The moment Saleem ripped the hood off of her head, I felt something I can't categorize it. For months, I thought she was dead. Gone.

The questions plays over and over._"Why are you here?" _I look over at Ziva again. I whisper. "For you." I know she may not hear me but I just need to say it. _For you. For you. For you. _

I get antsy on airplane rides - it's silly. It seems like we've been flying too long. Shouldn't we be home by now? Just as I say that, our pilot announces we are preparing for our final descent. The intercom wakes the rest of team up. They stretch then look to each other and smile.

We gather our gear and head back to the Navy Yard. Silence inhabits the car. Just another day at work. Abby and Ducky are waiting for us when we get there. Everyone is clapping. My legs feel weak so I just go and sit at my desk.

I'm angry. Is there a reason to be? Maybe I'm being selfish but I just want Ziva to talk to me. What do I say now? Sorry for killing Rivkin, but wait. . . nope, actually. . . I'm not sorry. . . Your father is bastard. How could not trust me?. . . We would have killed Saleem. . . because he took you away. . .

Nah, I just go back to work.

* * *

><p>Once again, our ninja has disappeared. I know she can't back be in Israel. They can't send her back, right? I speak as an authority when I say she'll call when she's ready.<p>

* * *

><p>In the next day or two, I notice she makes the rounds to every other member of the team. Maybe she's saving the best for last. (I'm going with that statement for sanity's sake.) She pounces when I least expect it. I didn't hear the door open or footseteps. She's here in the bathroom with me. . . I finish up my "Chad Gadya" stanza, (It is a catchy tune. It still brings me back to <em>that <em>day.) I think she'd appreciate the fact I have learned this nursery rhyme. More proof that Ziva is a part of me.

* * *

><p>When you think about it, in any argument words are slung around without much regard. In apologies, words are said with the utmost care, yet the words from the argument stay with you too. An interesting dichotomy.<p>

* * *

><p>The world of Anthony DiNozzo has righted itself. Case solved, paperwork to pass off to McGee, and Ziva sitting across from me at work. This calls for a movie and a glass of red wine.<p>

I stop and grab some take out on the way home. This makes me think about where Ziva was staying. Her apartment was destroyed. All her material belongings gone. She has to start over, again. She's the strongest woman I know.

I hear a faint knock on my door. This sound makes all my thoughts evaporate. I stumble to the door and open it.

Ziva clutching a bottle of wine. She makes eye contact, then scoots past me, sits on the couch, and all while taking an eager interest in the food picnic I have laid out on the table.

"For two?"

"It is now."

I walk into the kitchen and grab another set of chopsticks. I smile as I reach for a wine glass. Ziva has already made herself comfortable. She is holding a take-out container and chopsticks.

"This is good."

"I know." Good thing I got myself some more utensils.

She leans over and with one stealth move covers me with the rest of the blanket and manages to steal a good size piece of chicken from me. I give her the eye.

"What are we watching?"

"Wait and see."

"I have not heard of that."

"No, I mean press play and you shall find out."

"Ahhh, okay."

We settle in for the movie, food containers empty and discarded on the coffee table in front us. Ziva leans against me, and I can feel her breathe. It reminds me again, how close I came to losing her.

I look at her. "You don't have to say anything, and you don't have to do anything. Not a thing."

"Oh, maybe just whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and... blow. . . I have learned a few things from you over the years, Tony. Especially when it regards Humphrey Bogart."


	4. Prince of Spades

As always, thanks to JSQ and Cindy

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><p><em>Following Orders.<em>

Whatever name you call him – Director, Father, Eli – his orders carry much responsibility. They are not to be taken lightly. They must completed by any means necessary.

There are few people in the world that I despise; Eli David takes the top spot.

Next on that list, Mossad Officer Malachi Ben-Gidon.

So, when I hear McGee mention that the one and only Ben Gidon is here, it raises my blood pressure; my brain kicks into overdrive and I immediately get the Boss Man

He is following orders from Eli David. I mean, seriously, he was her Command Officer – he let her go off on her own in fucking Somalia. Both he and her fucking bastard father knew where she was, who she was with and most likely, what was happening to her for three months. . ..

* * *

><p>It never really goes away. It happens so fast. You go back to a place you vowed to never go again. The smell of sweat and body odor, the dry sand, the cigarette smoke. The discomfort of keeping your arms in an upright position. The darkness filtering through the window and enveloping the entire room. The darkness that keeps you awake at night. The darkness that latches onto your body.<p>

There was a part of me that thought I would not make it out alive. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I'm back there; tied to that chair, waiting for the opportunity to give the 'go ahead' and have a bullet rid the world of yet another terrorist. Ziva was stuck in that fucking place for three months. She wasn't supposed to live through it. I wonder if Ziva gets the flash of memories before her eyes, transporting her back to place she didn''t want to be. She was just _following orders. _She was gone. She is gone, well a part of her is.

But the best parts. . .they are still here.

* * *

><p>I'm lying in bed, uncomfortably for some reason, trying to fall asleep. So, of course my phone would ring. I sigh, this late at night usually means a case; something that can't wait until the morning. I can't ignore it. Rule number three.<p>

The phone continues to ring. I look at the caller ID. _Ziva cell. _

"Uhhh, yeah?" I try to sound a little sleepy, but I don't think I'm fooling anyone.

"I hope I am not disturbing you."

"You know what time it is, right?"

"Of course, I know what time it is. Why does that matter?

"Some people are trying to sleep"

"Well, I did ask if I was disturbing you."

"What's going on, Zee-vah?"

"Nothing. Sleep does not come easy for me. I just wanted to hear a familiar voice. . ."

"Did you try counting sheep?"

"I do not own sheep."

"Nobody owns sheep. Unless you're a shepherd. It's a technique used with kids to get them to sleep."

"So you just lay there and count with no sheep?"

"Use your imagination, Ziva."

"Can the sheep be any color you want?"

"Yes. . . of course. They are your sheep."

"But you said I don't own them." She pauses.

"What are you watching?"

"You have to ask."

"So I know what channel to flock to?"

"It's flip. And it's on TNT.

"Ahhh, James Bond."

"But of course."

"Not a favorite, but I must watch it."

"Why?"

"Because, it's James Bond."

"That does not make sense."

"Yes, it does. Some franchises make some doozies but you have to take the good with the bad."

"Found it." I can hear Pierce Brosnan's distinctive tone echoing through the phone.

"He was Thomas Crown, too."

"Steve McQueen is Thomas Crown."

"They both were."

"Have I taught you nothing? When in doubt, always go with the original. . ..They don't make movies the way they used to. I'd take Faye Dunaway any day."

I get no retort. I whisper, "Ziva, you still there?" I hear her lightly snoring. I don't hang up the phone. I just listen to her.

* * *

><p>I stand behind the glass and watch Gibbs' talk to Officer Ben-Gidon. Ziva stands in the corner, watching him, hoping for something.<p>

Her CO is throwing her under the bus. Apparently, in Israel that's what you do when something gets fucked up. That is not the way to it goes here at NCIS. Even though her back is to me, I can picture the look on her face. A revelation. Her father sent Malachi to burn her, to feed her to wolves, to destroy her – again.

"Are you following orders?" A non-response indicates he is.

I hear the Boss Man tell Malachi to flee and warn him to stay away from Ziva.

I can't take my eyes off of her. She sits there so hurt by the one man who should have done everything to protect her. He has failed her. For the last time.

I have nothing to say to Officer Malachi Ben-Gidon as I escort him from the property. Are there things on my mind? Do I want to punch him? Do I want to get into his face and cut him with words? Yes, but I won't. Why? Because Ziva is safe here with us now. He failed.

At least for now, I know who will be doing my paperwork.

_Probie. _


	5. Past the Falls

"Why did you just lie to McGee?"

"Why did you lie to Nora?"

* * *

><p>We walk along the cobblestone street; each taking in the sights and sounds of Paris. Checking into the hotel was quick and painless. We had dropped off our bags; Ziva shaking her head as we set out for some fine French fare.<p>

I stopped. There it was – the place to eat.

Cafe de Deux Moulins.

"This is where you want to eat?"

"Oui. It's where Amelie works."

"Who is Amelie?"

"Just a girl who took pleasure in the simple things in life. Unlucky in love. Until she found a box of childhood treasures. . . She sets out to return it, and along the way finding friends, information and of course, love. What we should take away from this movie, Miss Dah-veed, is that miraculous details of life occur every moment."

"I should know by now that things always circle back to the movies."

"As they should."

* * *

><p>The next morning I wake up and turn my head to the left. Just as I though, she is there and snoring lightly. Automatically, I feel a smile forming on my face. She does that to me.<p>

_As we left the restaurant last night, the air was still warm and the street lanterns cast just enough light so I could catch Ziva eyes glistening; trying to figure out what she was feeling, if anything. Without thinking, I reached for her hand. She accepted this semi-romantic gesture with no comment. As if it were a natural occurrence or as if she would be expecting it. Either way, this night would go down in the books. No expectations. No disappointments. _

_We continue to wander aimlessly between the shops, the boutiques and other restaurants. Not letting go of each other, we pause to gaze in the windows; laughing at some of the displays and drooling over the pastries. I gently remind her that tomorrow we are going sightseeing. She disagrees. We shall see how this plays out. _

_We reach a junction; left brings us back to the hotel, while taking a right will loop us around for a second time, eventually leading us back to the hotel. I just stand there for a moment, before turning and looking at Ziva. I continue in this exaggerated silence. Whatever I say won't matter. I've been trying to tell her things for four fucking years - simple things; like the truth, what I'm actually thinking about her and how that fits in my world and my job, personally. It has to, right?_

_I instinctively turn left. I'm sick of walking in circles. She takes the same stride I do – complimentary. (Like somehow she was hoping I'd chose this.) As we enter the hotel, I take notice of everyone around me, I guess I'm used to it. I have no doubt Ziva is doing the same. Not that anyone is there who would know us, it almost begs the question – what else can get away with?_

_We ride the elevator up to our floor. Still silent. Still holding hands. Still much being left unsaid. _

_In our room, we go our separate ways in preparation for bed and for what tomorrow brings. _

_I finish before her and jump in bed. If she complains, I can just whine about my back. She comes out of the bathroom. Her eyes dart between the couch and the bed with the added bonus of company. I pat her side of the bed. She laughs as if she just realized how ludicrous it was to think she would take the couch. _

_She reaches over and grabs my hand. (Because it just wasn't enough holding it all night.) She brings my hand to her lips and kisses it. In that second, a wildfire of electricity burns throughout my body. It's an entirely different experience from before when I thought I lost her. I can't go down that road again. The worst fucking three months of my life. Thinking about it still fires me up. I feel her lips kiss my hand again. My thought process is once again re-wired. _

_I untangle my hand from hers, again. As I gaze into her eyes, I gently reach up to brush some stray hairs from her face and tuck them behind her ear. Once again, she moves her head and ends up kissing my palm. Another jolt. She shimmies closer to me, leaving about an inch between us. For Ziva, that's a lot. She lacks concern for personal space. _

"_Tony." She mutters, breathlessly._

"_Ziva." I retort back. _

"_What are you thinking about?"_

"_You. Me. This hotel room. Paris. Tomorrow."_

_She looks me in the eyes and whisper, "Let's make it memorable." Her lips land on mine. _

* * *

><p>I wake up again thinking about the previous night. Since, Ziva has already left to coordinate with the passenger we are escorting back to the U.S. I can't really fault her for leaving me here. I know we broke a rule, I know this night may be the chance we have. I am not going to regret it. I am not share it because honestly, it's not about anybody else.<p>

I finish packing my bag and get ready for the day. I have more sights to see before I meet up with Ziva. I find her sitting outside a cafe enjoying her morning coffee and croissant. She is glowing, maybe it's way the sunlight bounces off the buildings and the streets or maybe it's me. (I'm going with that.)

"Why are you in such a pleasant mood? What's wrong with you?"

"I slept well last night, didn't you?. . . You certainly looked comfy enough."

Ziva tilts her head to side and her lips form a slight smile. Almost as if she doesn't want to give anything way. Telling me with her eyes that "Yes, I slept fine. You know this because you were lying next me, holding me in your arms."

She stands up indicating we should stop talking about this and that it is time to head to the embassy. I snap a few more pictures and climb on the vespa. Ziva climbs on, wraps her around my stomach and holds on a little tighter than she should.

* * *

><p>The journey home begins. There will be no turning back. Forward progression, or the lack there of, may be the source of previous separations– the unwillingness to change, to grow, to share. Maybe it was choosing the wrong person but you sometimes don't figure that until it's over. Maybe you find the find the right person but it may take you time to figure that out too.<p>

I go through my photos of Paris. The printouts are usually better than having to squint looking at them on the camera. Re-checking the pictures I took realize that Ducky was right. The pictures outside the Louvre don't capture the essence of what's inside. Then, I find it. My favorite picture, one that isn't soulless or analytical.

Whether pictures are printed in black and white or in color, there is always a touch of gray.


	6. Two Coins

**Thanks, per usual to JSQ & Cindy for feedback**

* * *

><p>Mexico is nice for spring break. All the drinking, laying on the beach and chasing the girls around in their bikinis – that's the Mexico I remember. I came here every year, different beaches but the atmosphere was still the same.<p>

But now when I have to head south of the border, I'm missing the beaches and the drinking. I don't have to come here as much as Gibbs. He will be tied to this shithole forever. I don't find fault with his decision to seek revenge on the person who claimed the life of his family – his heart. Fuck, I would've done the same thing. Actually come to think of it, I have my own Mexico. Somalia.

I imagine that if I get flashbacks from being there, Gibbs' mind must fucking be shattered. He leaves the Gulf on the last day of service and when he gets home, his world has changed. Worst news ever. _When you were defending your country, Gunny, your family was killed._ I wonder if the last moments he had with Shannon and Kelly play in his mind; the things he could've done differently, the things he should've said, the extra seconds of hugs he should've held onto.

We are different, though, because my heart is still beating. I feel my heart skip beats when I look at her every damn day. Gibbs, well, he only has memories.

* * *

><p>Whenever Vance says, "Agent DiNozzo, I need a minute," I know my plans are ruined.<p>

I step inside the Director's office. "Sir?"

"I need you on the next flight to Mexico. Observe and report."

"Who, Director?"

"Alejandro Rivera. . . DiNozzo, wheels up in one hour. You better get packing."

With that dismissal, I go back to my desk and contemplate whether or not, I should let Ziva know I will miss her ceremony. A broken promise. At least I already got her a gift, something that will prove to be useful. That should sweeten the deal, right?

I made a promise. A promise I would be there when the ninja officially became an American. (What do I say to the Director? Sorry, Leon. I can't fly to Mexico, send someone else.) I'm just following orders. I hope she knows I would rather be with her, watching her as she recites the Oath of Allegiance, making sure she doesn't stumble on a word and cause me to break into a laughing fit. (I know it would not be appropriate.)

* * *

><p>Another fucking plane ride. I don't know what is worse, sand wise: Somalia, Arizona or Mexico? I have a checklist and all of them are terrible. I have hours before I touch down to begin my assignment.<p>

I didn't tell Ziva I was leaving. I didn't have time to tell her in person. I suppose I could have called her, but that didn't seem right. "Oh, hey Ziva. You know how I promised I could go tomorrow. Yeah, I'm in Mexico now. See you when I get back." Ummm. . .yeah. I don't think so. What is she going to think? Maybe she'll be so nervous about it that she won't notice I'm not there. I feel like she knows that I'll disappoint her. Is there ever going to be time that I can tell how I feel?

* * *

><p>Being alone in a C-130 gives a man a lot to think about. It's brings back the memories of Ziva. The first time we left her with her father in Israel. <em>One short. <em>That of course, leads me back to joyful experience of hell on earth. Not knowing she was still alive. The fury, the rage, the sadness still clings to my insides. I've done a pretty remarkable job trying to not think about it, to let it go, to not let it take hold. If I'm thinking about it, then Zee-vah has to be. There's no way around it. We don't talk about it, but I know.

I manage to sleep on the plane, which gets easier with this job. Being able carve out time to clear my head and go to a place of no thoughts, no demons, no expectations.

* * *

><p>Rivera is about five feet in front me. I'm walking through the street market, not caring about the fruits, or the jewelry. . . oh wait, Ziva might like that. . . guys carrying umbrellas, and kids running. Oh, there he is - my buddy Alejandro, stopping to talk to some lady about an apple. I mean come on, really. This is what I'm here for. Should I write down that he seems to be enjoying it?<p>

I continue to follow him. Still angry, because he's just walking around, nothing wrong yet. Plus, he's an officer of the law here, highly regarded. I'm supposed to be dressed in my Ermenegildo Zegna suit, standing next to Ziva while she pledges her allegiance to the United States and finally becomes a citizen. Yet, here I am in jeans and a khaki safari shirt following Alejandro Rivera around this shit town. How detailed does he want me to be?

Then I get pushed against the wall by Mike Franks.

* * *

><p>Before I know it, I'm on another plane, heading back to the comforts of home. <em>Home. <em>

I can't let it go. Alejandro knew we were following him. I can't stop watching the video of Franks getting shot. Alejandro fleeing the scene. Law-enforcement, my ass. I'm lucky that Somalia is behind me, no one is coming to get me. But people are after Gibbs and that doesn't fly. This entire situation involves all of us. You take one away, we are less effective. I suppose that's what being a family is all about.

* * *

><p>Rules in the 40s, they don't come very often. (Which is a good thing) But when there a slightest whisper that a rule in the forties will be uttered it can only mean one thing - shitteth has hitteth the fan.<p>

I'm here with Gibbs myself. It reminds me of when I first started but we have other people now and they are on vacations. McMounty is still in Canada and Miss David gets to be in Miami with good sand and beaches. But Gibbs needs her back, so she saunters back into the office complete with a straw hat, a glowing tan and the smell of ocean and shea butter. The smell of heaven, a place I'd rather be than here.

"I don't see any tan lines."

"I don't have any tan lines."

My head goes to the clouds. No tan lines. I would've rather been in that sand with her. Okay, relax – someone is trying to kill Gibbs' and everyone close to him. I need to concentrate. The smell of ocean and shea butter are distracting, though.

But Ziva is back, and she met someone down there. I don't like that – do I have a right not to? I haven't made my intentions known. It can't be too late.

After all . . .tomorrow is another day.

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Let me know what you think so far. . .<strong>


	7. Passerby

Thanks C!

* * *

><p>One night stands are just that – one night. (Supposed to be, anyway.) Sure, it may take days or weeks of conversation to make this one night happen but usually it ends up favorable. Except when it doesn't. For example, last year I may have turned my charm-o-meter up a few notches when I spoke to a particular barista – there is nothing wrong with that. Except when there is.<p>

Enter Brenda Bittner. I would see her pretty much everyday when I stopped in for my morning cup of joe. One day, she was brazen enough to scribble a little message on my cup and then the next day, her phone number. I thought it would be unwise to ignore her advances. In hindsight, I should have held it together and ignored it but where is the fun in that? But then she went on to post publicly that we were in a committed relationship; do you know what that does to a man's reputation? It was not good. Luckily, I managed to control the situation. So when I hear the news that she's wrapped her car around a tree and thereby checked into a depression treatment facility, I get to wondering; Why didn't I see any signs? Would I have done anything different?

Instead of dwelling on the situation, I decided work would keep my mind off of it. I really don't like paperwork, there are so many other things, better things – but since I'm turning over a new leaf, I have to face my fears. I got to the office early to finish up the reports that have been taking up space in my desk for three months. While still not thinking about it, I update McGee's expense reports from his jaunt in the Great White North. Last time, I re-classed his meals into livestock feed. I would like to do it again, but I think that may be overkill. And today, I'm not joking. I know it's bad when I have no movies to compare this experience. This too shall pass.

I've notice that District Attorney Walsh has been looking at me with an 'I want to talk to you' face. I'm not interested; we have a crime scene to canvass, a witness to find and holiday turkey to bag – Maybe the former Tony would, but not today. Then she does it, in front of everyone – claiming boxes are heavy and I should help her. She wants me to help her carry file boxes. I see where she's going with this. She's been carrying around those files since before she met me, she can manage. Underneath Timmy's scrawny figure, there has to be a bicep or two. She is a redhead, maybe Gibbs will lend a hand. Doubtful but the Boss Man still has the moves.

* * *

><p>Back in the Navy Yard, we are watching the District Attorney wait for Gibbs. . . Once she and Gibbs start going back and forth, Ziva silences the noise. Thank god, I could feel headache was appearing. She points out that this is usually my favorite part; reality television at work. Not today. She's been taking mental notes about me not cracking jokes for two days, for being serious, for coming in and doing my job and for changing so fast. Maybe Ziva's the only one who can see through it. The only one I can tell. She's right, my job is to help people who are in trouble. Maybe I just didn't want to see what was happening. I don't know, perhaps I'll never know.<p>

She gently rests her hand over my heart. My heart beats faster as if her hand has some magnetic force and I can't resist the pull. "You need to be who you are."

"Who am I?" I can feel the tears wanting, for the moment, to flow down. No. Not now. Not here. Yet somehow, if I couldn't stop them, Ziva is the only person I would want to see them.

"You are. . . Tony DiNozzo. The class clown. That is why we love you." _Love. . _. a word that does not often escape my lips or Ziva's, for that matter. Maybe we are changing. I want to say something but then I hear the door open and one of the tech's walks in. I cough to regain my composure. Saved by the door. Eventually, we have to talk.

Enter Agent EJ Barrett. I am pleasantly intrigued by her. The first time I saw her; actually, I heard her first – Ziva and I were going through some information on the case of the dead NCIS agent. We were talking over some details and EJ just started talking to us. I knew that Ziva was annoyed right away but I thought it was refreshing. The jury's still out on whether I just liked it for the sole reason that she was already under Miss David's skin. EJ just walks in, claims her desk and starts shuffling it around, complaining about the light, too. Clearly, EJ doesn't mince words.

Ziva had this look on her face, a look I know all too well instintively I grab her arm and tell her that McGee and Abby probably need us. She resists as she still has her sights set on EJ. She doesn't say anything as we descend down the stairs to the lab. Ziva just looks at me then at the ground then back at me. Words are forming in the brain, I can tell she's trying really hard not to go berserk in Hebrew. I laugh on the inside because I fear what Ziva might do. For some reason, I could picture Ziva and EJ fighting. Maybe it's just been a fantasy of mine.

So, EJ is the Team Leader from Rota, Spain. Rota, the job promotion I passed up. So this is who took my job instead. I'm happy I stayed here with the team, really I am. I never told anyone that Director Shepard offered me the position. There was no point; Gibbs had just come back from Mexico, McGee and Ziva were here, I couldn't do it. Do I sometimes wish I had taken it? Do I regret it? Sometimes.

Maybe it's because EJ's the new girl on the block. Maybe it's because Ziva has her friend in Miami. Maybe it's because I'm sick of one night stands. Maybe I just want someone new to talk to. Whatever it may be, I just want more than one night.


	8. Fallin'

Ray Cruz – the man, the myth, the legend – appears to have just walked into our squad room. Ziva hurries over to him while looking a bit flustered that he is here. I wish I had some popcorn; this is going to be good.

I don't like him. I don't really know him but I don't like him. It must be that smile or the suit, nope – it's the ears. And lo and behold, he's CIA. Yup, I knew I had a bad feeling about this one. (I really hope this isn't another Eli David entanglement thing because I know I can't bear it and neither can she.)

_It's what I do, not who I am. _You are neither Batman nor Bruce Wayne so just stop.

I don't like him.

* * *

><p>Oh look, it's CI-Ray, again. Just the two of us, in the bathroom. We have to talk, there's no around it. "She's a tough nut to crack. But you know, once you navigate past that Mossad influenced exterior and her inability to grasp cultural references – she's great."<p>

"I'm in love with her. That's why I'm here."

"To tell her. . . When are you going to do that?"

"I don't know . . . tonight, tomorrow . . . soon. You know, feels good to . . . finally let it out." My internal thoughts keep floating questions as he talks; let it out, really? Are we 12? You can't say it to her or are you afraid of what she might say?

"I want Ziva's friends to become my friends. She's told me how close you two are." Yeah, we won't be friends. That's the way it is.

I flash out a nervous smile. "I wouldn't say that."

"She says you're like a brother to her." Oh really, a brother? A fucking brother? Clearly, she's mistaken. Is she ashamed of our relationship? My mind flashes back to Paris – not siblings.

CI-Ray's phone beeps, again. "Do me a favor. Don't say anything to Ziva."

Oh, don't worry CI-Ray, I won't. I want to see what you can do on your own. You don't need help from me. It surprises me he didn't tell her when they were at that cute little bed and breakfast up north. Wait, even better, the opera – because that's not cliché or expected. I can stay quiet, Ray.

* * *

><p>What. . . the. . .fuck? EJ and Ray know each other. <em>CIA Liaison with NCIS on the Port-to-Port Killer.<em> I knew I didn't like him. I guess he didn't mention the whole love thing yet. Ziva looks pissed. I don't blame her. Even I didn't know about Ray and I'm sleeping with the Boss Lady. In all honesty, we never know what information is being passed. We protect what we know – we have to.

My phone rings as I wait for Gibbs and EJ to come out the Director's office. "What did you forget?"

"I did not forget anything, Tony."

"Ok, then." I pause for a second, "Then what can I do for you, Agent Dah-veed?"

"Meet me for a drink."

"Where?" I semi-whisper as Gibbs walks by me and grabs his coat. "Uh, goodnight Boss." I say during the silence. He nods and heads out.

"The usual."

"Be there in five."

Just as I hang up, EJ comes to my desk, "Tony, he knows and he's not happy about it."

"You can't hide anything from Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Yeah, uh huh. . ."

"Still on for dinner?"

"Nope, I need a rain check. Ziva need me."

"Why?"

"She just does." I'm not about to say, 'Oh let's see, you and CI-Ray have been working together this entire time. She's pissed. She wants a drink and she wants me there.' Nah. I'll just leave it.

"Alright, then." EJ says defeated, "Call me later."

I smile. "Sure." I know I won't be calling.

* * *

><p>I get to the bar and spot Ziva immediately. I suppose it's not hard since we are pretty much the only two in there. I make a crack about depressing it is to be drinking alone. She retorts saying its club soda and she's not depressed. Nope, she's pissed. I grab her arm as she tries to get up since she's apparently <em>fine. <em>God, I fucking hate that word, _fine. _She gives me that ninja eye and I let go of her arm. Where are we going to go? Obviously she doesn't want to be alone. I don't understand how she can hold it together all the time. She doesn't have to act so strong all the time. It's not like it would change my opinion about her. I don't think anything could.

"What about you and EJ?" She deflects.

"What about us?"

"What are you going to do when Gibbs finds out?"

"I understand this one, Ziva. I understand her. That's why it's working."

I catch a glimpse of the tears she's trying to hold back. What do I say? Do I ignore it? The reason I started seeing EJ was because Ziva and Ray were together. She was so happy with him, well, at least when they went off on their weekends together. He loves her and I think she may even love him, too. I don't know. Her track record isn't so great. I mean, if she's happy then I'm happy – even if it isn't us together. Plus, EJ is different from Ziva. Great, I'm starting to do that compare and contrast thing again. Maybe, deep down, though I don't understand Ziva all the time, I understand her enough to make it work. But if I did, would we be sitting here right now? And there is that rule number 12 thing.

It's a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.


	9. Mayday

I sit in Gibbs' basement, first taking a sip of bourbon then going through my thoughts about what to say. He doesn't drink he continues working on the wood project in front of him. He has nothing to say to me but I have words for him. That's why I'm here. Right now, I'm squeezing my hand together so I don't lose my cool. I've only taken two sips when Gibbs' got called away by Abby. She must have something pretty important if she is making her way down the list of her special call-tree.

Gibbs' hands my phone back, gets up, and dusts himself off. He doesn't say another word. I can tell he didn't want to follow him. So I just sit here, looking at the amber liquid as I swig it down. I replace my glass on the work bench and drink his too. Never waste a good bourbon. Any bourbon really. That should be a rule but that's another discussion.

* * *

><p>So, I got distracted. Boss Man doesn't like it when he asks a question and you don't have an answer. Especially, when you're not paying attention. I took my eye off the ball. I can't help glancing at EJ. curious about her movements, her cases. Her. I know we have our own work to do. Funny, I waited for head slap and didn't get one. That's a signal right there. It was Ziva who punched my arm bringing me back to reality. Fuck. I'm in trouble.<p>

* * *

><p><em>I depend on you. <em>

I don't think it's a good idea if I am here when he comes back. So, I just sit here contemplating my next move. My first thought is to call Ziva; to tell her to order some food and we'll watch a movie, the thought of letting her pick makes me apprehensive. Then my thought is EJ – the reason I'm in this mess to begin with. Interestingly enough I told her not to mess with the Great White. She'll be eaten. Looks like Gibbs' may swallow us both. Can't call Abby – she's with the Boss Man now. And the McGeek, well, I just let him be.

I think tonight, I just need to be alone. Figure all this shit out. I knew going into this Gibbs' would find out. I stand up and look around Gibbs' basement. The sawdust, his workbench filled with tools, the bottles of bourbon and the TV. He spends most of his time down here. Hiding? If so, from what? His ghosts? . . . has he risked anything since Shannon? Those other marriages were parachutes. The pack on his back when he was in danger - just waiting for him to pull the cord. Does he have regrets? Rule Number 12 isn't there for the hell of it, right? It has to be there because of Jenny? Does he regret not making himself or her happy? Every relationship is treated differently. Was he afraid? Is he still? I think he may need this more that I do. Fuck! I leave to bottle of bourbon on his workbench (he may want a drink later) and head back to my apartment. But I really don't want to be alone. I should be but I don't want to be.

* * *

><p>I hesitate. I've made it this far. <em>Knock on the fucking door, Tony.<em>

You've been here plenty of times before. I raise my hand and my knuckles make the tap, tap, tap rattle against the door. Five seconds later it opens. There she is wearing a tank top and yoga pants, her hair slightly curly across her shoulders, looking like I woke her up.

She mutters, "It is late." as she leaves to door open and walks back to the couch.

I hold up the DVD case of _Dances with Wolves _and a bottle of red wine. "Not too late."

As I close the door and make my way to the couch, I glance at the TV screen. I laugh, I don't believe it – she's already watching it. Of course, she is. It's her feel good movie. What does she have to feel good about?

She comes back from the kitchen with two wine glasses. "Great brains think the same. . . Do you want to start at the beginning?"

"Great minds, Ziva. Great minds think alike. And no, I don't want to talk about anything."

"The movie, Tony. I can go back to the beginning."

I smirk yet I bite my tongue. I sigh. Oops. "I think I can catch up from where you are." I've seen this movie a lot over the years, thanks to the mighty ninja.

I try to make myself comfortable on the couch as she impatiently holds me wine glass until I'm just right. "Ok, wine me." She chuckles and sits right next to me. Personal space means nothing to Ziva David. She looks over at me and smiles – she knew I was going to talk to Gibbs' tonight but she also knows I'll tell her when I ready. Maybe she'll ask me why I'm here instead of EJ's. Maybe she already knows the answer. Maybe. . .

_I depend on you. _

Here it comes . . . the scene where John Dunbar spots a woman kneeling near a tree. He dismounts from his horse and calls to the woman. She doesn't answer. She is sobbing, her hands covered in blood. Neither understanding what is happening, she tries to get away. He goes after her. He is baffled yet intrigued. That's the moment, right there. . . He's made his decision. You can see by the look in his eyes. It's her. A woman he doesn't yet fully know. A woman foreign to everything he's ever known. A woman he will spend the rest of life learning from, living with and most importantly, loving.

"Stands With A Fist." I say.

"Dances With Wolves." Ziva retorts back. "Quite a pair, they are."

* * *

><p>I was just thinking that of all the trails in this life, there are some that matter most. It is the trail of a true human being. I think you are on this trail, and it is good to see.<p>

It's up to me to figure out what matters most. What if I already know, but I have to make someone realize it too. Not going to lie. When EJ told me in the elevator, she thought D.C. was a place worth sticking around for me. That was huge. My track record with serious relationships is not great. How do you tell someone that you really like spending time with – ehh, there's nothing here to stay for. Maybe Gibbs' is right, sleeping with Barrett is a bad idea. The thing is there are no real expectations. Nothing tying me down – she has her own team, her own leads, and her own work. I owe her no explanations if I don't call.

Ziva's right.

I have some choices to make.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think. . . <strong>_


	10. Bulletholes

**And this brings S8 to a close. . .**

**Disclaimer: No matter how much I write, I will never own it. **

* * *

><p>Rain.<p>

It ruins everything – like temperaments, evidence, a perfectly good day of sun, and people. The raindrops change their size depending on the storm front. They destroy what's in their path, regardless.

And who invented the umbrella? I'd like to have a word. They are so awkward to carry around. I suppose getting a travel umbrella would be fine for my gear pack but what if I don't have my backpack with me? Usually my thumb gets caught in the damn piece as I deflate the umbrella. Gah, I don't like them. Not like they actually prevent you from being wet, either. The worst are the wind gusts, carrying the rain, drenching everything, and soaking you to the bone. So in that case, you might as well carry extra clothes; then you have to make sure that your bag is waterproof. . . It's like the six-degrees of separation for Kevin Bacon but for an umbrella. I guess Kevin Bacon uses them. Right? See what I'm getting at – so much to think about for one lousy form of precipitation.

* * *

><p>EJ's in Hawaii. Thought I would revel in the time alone. She doesn't really like the Hitchcock movie genre so I thought watching his 1943 classic, <em>Shadow of a Doubt<em>, would be a perfect way to spend an evening. Plus, we are working as the support team on her serial murder case, so it fits.

My phone rings. What now? I think as I see Gibbs' name pop up. "Yeah, Boss?"

"Get over here. Now." He says quickly. "Mike's gone."

_I depend on you. _

I waste no time. I get my keys and head to the door. I glance back right at the doorjamb. Uncle Charlie stops me when he utters, 'What's the use of looking backward? What's the use of looking ahead? Today's the thing - that's my philosophy. Today.' Then I look over at the coffee table - the wine bottle still corked, the take-out containers unopened. _Doubt. Alone. Today, that's all we have. _I immediately call Ziva and McGee telling them to get to Gibbs' house as soon as possible. Something fucking godawful went down. When I pull up, I see Ducky and Palmer already there. Even the Director is here. Not good – I can't recall when I've ever seen him outside the office.

Of course, it's fucking raining outside; the evidence washed away. The only thing we have are shell casings. Water saturated the only potential leads we could have.

He's coming after our own now. First Stark, now Franks. Not to mention the others we didn't investigate. Who is he coming after next? In this job, after a while, you learn there is no reason for dying. It's just completely out of your hands. People die when it's their time. You can't do anything about it.

Something is wrong with this. When a serial killer changes his MO, something even more fucked up is brewing. Gavin O'Ryan and his alter ego, Trent Kort have something to do with this. How do I know? His eye is in Abby's lab. He's the most hated person in my world after Eli David and Malachi Ben-Gidon. Of course, Kort's been pursuing Cobb. He fucking started this mess and now he has to clean it up. Except it seems like we are the ones doing the all the cleaning. He's breaking some rules but then again, that's what he's good at.

It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

* * *

><p>Classified. Every goddamn thing seems to be classified. I'm beginning to hate that word, too. Yeah, we get that covert affairs team was implemented, fine – we get that but Cobb is after us. Who exactly? We don't know yet. We know the Agency is involved and now so is SecNav. This keeps escalating. I just want some fucking answers. I just want this to be fucking over.<p>

I came back to the office and EJ was waiting for me.

"We have a problem."

"We do?" I look confused.

"Ziva went to get Ray and bring him back to her apartment. Problem is, he's here."

Not that I doubt EJ, but for my own satisfaction I call Ziva; hoping she was unreachable for EJ and not for me but I got no answer. Here comes the rain. Tried her at home, too, because that's where she should be with him. CI-Ray. No answer. I immediately press speed-dial ONE to notify Gibbs that something is amok. She's gone, again. Just like the wind. We've been setup. We have to find her. _He's going after our own. _My palms begin to sweat. I can't handle another Somalia. We got her back last time. This time, though, is different.

I take the keys and McGee follows me. Gibbs is going to drive but I just need to be in the car, now. We'll get there faster if he drives. I need to be at that hotel like 20 minutes ago. . . The elevator is going too slow, I can't take the stairs, I'm standing here trapped inside this metal box surrounded by Gibbs, Timmy and EJ. Is is hot in here or is it me? I feel my throat tighten. _Somalia._ I'm agitated. Where the fuck is she?

Fresh air wafts through as the elevator doors slide open and we walk to the scene of crime.

"How could she just walk outta here and nobody notices?" I ask the room. In this day and age with all the technological advances, the fucking security cameras don't work. Nobody pays attention to anything anymore. What the fuck?

"Tony." EJ states in a flat tone.

"Sorry." Why am I apologizing?

"We're all worried about Ziva." I hold back my laughter. Sure.

"I know. It's just different for some of us." I can feel EJ's eyes on me. Us, meaning me. I can't bear to go through a life changing event like that again. I don't think I'm strong enough. Imagining a world without her just isn't an option. It's neither the time nor the place to discuss my statement. It doesn't matter because I'm not going to tell her anyway.

* * *

><p>As we mark this solemn occasion, we reflect knowing that Mike Franks lived his life the best way he knew how. He was a teacher, a patriot, a friend and a warrior; we are all lucky to have known him. We will all miss him. I can picture him now, with his husky voice and no nonsense attitude, asking if he gets unlimited drink privileges and memories of all beautiful women now. I think he lead by example to live life to the fullest – as we all hope too.<p>

We came. We saw. We kicked its ass.

* * *

><p>"Ray get off safely?" I ask, as if I really care.<p>

"He did." She smiles and asks about the service.

"It was short and patriotic. I think he would've been pissed if it had been any longer. I can picture him saying, 'Why the hell ya standin' here? There's bourbon to be drank.'"

She holds up her glass so I mirror her actions. Her glass taps mine. "For Mike." We down the bourbon and I shake my glass so Brett notices. "Is it funny or sad I've gotten used to drinking from the jars in Gibbs' basement?"

"I do miss the sawdust. It adds a little something extra."

"Right, it's not the jars. It what's at the bottom. A surprise every time."

She reaches in her coat pocket and retrieves a box. I say nothing, come on Brett – get your ass over here. I need another drink. I can't handle this shit.

"Don't worry." She laughs and replies answering the unasked questions in the air. "It's empty."

"I thought rings came in them."

"Usually, they do. Instead in this one, there was a promise."

"A promise of a bigger box for next time?"

"Very funny. It is a promise that we have to talk."

"Oh, that's how you keep the romance alive. By promising to talk? Do you schedule it or is it whenever he gets a free moment? Cell phone minutes can be a bitch." Did I go to far? Nah.

"Is what you said to EJ?"

"I didn't make a promise I didn't intend to keep. She left. Maybe we'll talk, maybe not. She has some stuff to work out; plus I've been tasked by the new SecNav for a mission so I'm going to be away for a bit, too."

"How long?"

"Until it's done."

"I will be here when you get back."

"I know."


	11. Time Served

**So begins the current season. **

**Thanks for reading. **

**Disclaimer never changes. **

* * *

><p>I don't like hospitals. I guess it started when I used to come to visit my mother.<p>

My father would walk into to my room and announce, 'Junior, time to go.' A man of few words, well, to me anyways. I would have to stop the task at hand. He would wait in my room for me, follow me and then slide next to me in the back of whatever expensive car he had just bought.

We would visit my mother every other day. Some days were better than others. She is the reason for my love of movies. My father loved my mother so he would watch them and recite lines to me. (When she was still alive) Sometimes, she fixated on movies; next thing you know, the entire house would be remodeled and redecorated. I slept in a bedroom fit for a French prince and had nightmares. Thanks, Mom. She called me "Le Petit Prince." She kept us together. Without her, I had nothing to say to my father. I was eight.

I remember leaving the hospital after she died – my father looked at me and said, "Now what, Junior?" I was eight. I didn't know. I still don't.

* * *

><p>The nurse came in to ask me if there is someone she should call. I say Gibbs. I don't even want to drag him into this but I'm treading water here. This isn't like the deep undercover work Jenny used to task me with. This is much deeper, with more repercussions and a director who won't quit. I don't have to say anything about it, he knows something is up. The thing I admire most about Leroy Jethro Gibbs is that he doesn't quit. Especially if it's his team.<p>

He asks me, what happened? I keep repeating, I don't know. He says there may be someone that can help. Dr. Kate's sister. I just look at him. He's going to call her no matter what I say. I fucked up. I was played. I have no idea how the fuck to get myself out of this mess. Maybe that was the plan. _I own you. Know it. Accept it. Comes with the detail. _

I begin to remember the photo. The mole. The reason our team has been one short. The reason I've been off the grid. The reason I've been playing golf. (Poorly.) I can remember all that. But the fucking person who shot NCIS agents, I can't.

* * *

><p>Per the assignment, I had to retrieve something from the Squad Room. The team was talking about Ziva's credentials. No more Probationary Officer David. Special Agent David it is. I am so proud of her. Really.<p>

"_Oh! Probie, no more. Who am I going to pick on now?"_

"_I am sure you find something else to pick on me about."_

"_In the meantime, Tony, we are now equals."_

"_Equals, huh? Careful what you ask for."_

"_I'll take a raincheck. . . I have some homework to do. But, ah . . . have some fun, David. You've earned it." _

Fucking special assignments. It was bad enough I missed her citizenship ceremony. Now, I have to miss the celebration of her becoming an Agent. A raincheck, how fucking lame does that sound. _You've earned it. _No, shit.

I can feel her eyes follow me to the elevator along with Gibbs and McGee's. A part of me wants her to run after me, corner me, flip the emergency switch and have there face to face. She'd prod and I show my resilience. But she doesn't come after me; she just let's me go. So I stop the elevator, by myself, and just stand in there for a minute. I think of all times we've been in here through the happiness, the tears, the jokes, the campfires, the dinner theaters for one. Yet now, I'm standing here by myself when Ziva should be here, too. Just her presence has to be enough – even if it's just in my mind.

* * *

><p>"<em>You have time for me now? She actually looks upset as she answers the door. "Come to cash your raincheck?" <em>

"_Ziva. . ." _I know this sucks. Not being able to tell my team anything. The people I depend on, the people who depend on me. I stop going to the office because I have been tasked to do the impossible. Well, it feels impossible. A deep-undercover assignment from directly from SecNav. I can't say a fucking thing.

_"Do you know how badly I want to tell you what is happening? I can't. I trust you, I do. But I can't tell you. Know that I'm protecting you. You have to know that. I tried to get out of this assignment. But I can't." _

Playing golf is not exciting but since Secretary Jarvis enjoys it, I have no choice. I used to play when my father would take us to the south of France for the summer or wherever he needed to be. All the golf jargon, so much information passes on the links, so many political discussions are talked about, reviewed and resolved on a course. Out in the open. A bag of clubs, hoping you choose the right one for where you want your ball to land. There are do-overs but they are marked. Everything is recorded. Another tally. Another person keeping score. Fuck that.

"_What if you don't come back?"_

"_Me, not come back? You'd miss me too much. I can't have that."_

_I hand her a wrapped gift. "Wrapped it myself." _

_She smiles. She unties the bow then goes for the tape. She's a careful unwrapper. Most people just rip the paper off. I figured a ninja would but now she's a NCIS agent, things change. _

_She utters the title accentuating every word from the back of her throat, "_The Best Years of Our Lives." _ She was reading it again silently, like she was missing something. She looks up at me waiting for an explanation. _

"_My mother's favorite movie. Harold Russell won two Oscars for his role. That had never happened before. Also, he was veteran. Lost his hands in combat in 1944. Started _AMVETS. _I think my mother had a crush on him."_

"_You don't talk about your mother much, Tony."_

"_I don't need to. I have the memories. . . you don't either, by the way."_

"_I didn't know your mother. . . Are you going to watch this with me?"_

"_I would love to but I can't."_

"_Tony." She says as she catches my gaze. "Be careful."_

"_I expect a full review, Agent Dah-veed." Just like that, I turn around and head back to the world of undercover. _

* * *

><p>"<em>Why do you think you keep getting involved with dysfunctional women?" <em>

_"What?"_

_"Well, the women you date are, well. . . messed up."_

"_I date all kinds of women."_

_"You know, I think you're drawn to them because you want to help them."_

Help them because I couldn't help my mother? Every other day, watching her try to respond to my questions. We would just sit here and watch movies. We didn't have to say anything, we all laughed at the same parts. Sometimes we cried. But we did it together. Just like the family I have now, except that I can't tell them anything without risking there safety.

The only woman who has been a constant in my life is Ziva. Do we know everything about each other? No, maybe that's the fun part. Discovering new things everyday. I'll spend all my days learning if I have to. I've known her almost as long as my mother. What does that say about me? Us? Our relationship is definitely complex. But it works for us. Most of the time. She's home.

* * *

><p>I remember the first time I met Dr. Kate's sister. I was standing over the body of an XO. It dawned on me who she was and she asked me, <em>"What do you see when you look at him, Agent DiNozzo?"<em>

_"Man works his whole life. Dedicates himself to his job. And he has nothing to show for it."_

_"How does that make you feel?"_

_". . . Afraid"_

Who the hell isn't afraid?

* * *

><p>You know, I had a dream. I dreamt I was home. I've had that same dream hundreds of times before. This time, I wanted to find out if it's really true. Am I really home?<p> 


	12. Outloud

**Thanks for the read-through, C!**

* * *

><p>I hear what I think is a faint knock. I mute the television. Silence. I must be hearing things. As I press the un-mute, I hear another knock. Yup, it's my door. I throw my blanket on the back of the couch, sit up and look at my watch. I must have dozed off because a lot of time passed since the last time I looked at the time.<p>

I open the door to Ziva stepping into me with full force. Her arms find their away around me and she just holds me. I don't say anything. I just let her embrace me. My arms envelope her, too. I feel her warm tears saturate my shirt. She squeezes a little harder. Between the tears she talks to my chest, "I saw something today that reminded me of my mother."

I have seen Ziva upset before but never like this. We are hovering above uncharted water here. Neither of us let go, though we did move so I could shut the door. "Isn't this the kind of stuff you share with your signifcant other; you know CI-Ray?"

She steps back from me and gazes into my eyes. The tears still welling up as she speaks. "You are my significant other, Tony." She says it quietly but reinforcing, like why the fuck don't you know that. She just continues to look at me. _You are my significant other, Tony. _No one has ever said that to me. Not even a person I was ready to share my life with.

"What?" I break eye contact. How is the conversation going to end well?

"Tony. . ." She utters. "Think about it. Sure, we do not always get along. We have said things to each other that have hurt. We pry into each other's lives. But you, Tony, you never give up on me. Never. I've tried to distance myself from you. I will admit it. It does not matter now, you know. I remember. I will not soon forget. You saved me. You. . ." She places her hand over my heart. "You did because of what you have right here." She pokes me. "I know what is inside. It is a shame others do not – maybe you do not wish them to, regardless, I know. For now, it can be our secret."

The tears come again. I kiss the top of her head. I smell her shampoo. I squeeze her closer to me. "What about your mother?" Right now, I'm at a loss for making sense of what she said. "Let's sit down." She sheds her jacket over the chair in the living room, just like she does everytime she's here. "Are you comfortable?" I ask because I sense this is going to be a long night. She doesn't answer.

I scoot into my bedroom to grab her a sweatshirt and some running pants. It's always better to be comfortable. I come back into the living room and she is already laying on the couch, blanket tightly wrapped around her. "I brought these. . . thought they would help your comfortablilty. But it seems I am too late."

"Thank you, Tony." She smiles and disengages from her cocoon. I watch walk to my room, close the door and emerge as a Buckeye. Oh, the college sweatshirts – they never go out of style.

"Alright, so let's have it. What about your mother?"

She takes a deep breath and wipes the remaining tears from her eyes. She settles back in to her cocoon. "When I was eight, she packed our bags and we left my father. My mother always wanted me to play with dolls, wear dresses and, I suppose, just be a girl. I had to take ballet. I just wanted to be like my father; a soldier. I wanted to play with G.I. Joe. My father used to blindfold us, take us into the forest and leave us there - fending for ourselves. I do not think my mother approved. My brother was in Scotland at medical school. In retrospect, my father sent him there. Another pawn. Another plan. Tali, the best of us, was killed."

She pauses for a brief second, sniffling the tears back as she continues. " . . . Sixteen, young enough to not have served in the army or Mossad. I've thought about this, Tony. Maybe she was saved. Not having to go through this – this mess, this war. So we grieve for her. Everyday. She was so full of life. My mother never got over it. I think a part of her blamed my father. My mother didn't see the man my father became. My father put this country ahead of his family. He taught his kids to do the same. He holds those closest to him at arm's length. He molded Ari, he did the same to me. I sometimes wonder if he wanted me to be a boy. Tali was like my mother. Tali looked for the beauty in everything. She inherited my mother's compassion. She had my mother's eyes, their eyes never lied. My mother protected us, I think Tali would have if she had survived. Looking back, Tony – he lied to us. He tried to make my mother see he was doing this because it was his duty. He lost out on watching us grow up, on being a real family, and on really knowing us. I know that my father loved her. I grew up without witnessing love in the open. Never seeing a hug, a kiss, a stolen glance – am I saying it would have changed anything? I do not know. But seeing this woman today, Tony, she loved her husband. She turned a blind eye because their love was enough. I, too, have turned a blind-eye. I have made mistakes when it comes to matters of the heart. Do we learn by examples? Or the lack there of?"

"Oh, Ziva. I don't think I'm qualified to answer these questions. I wish I knew. I'm trying to figure it out, too. Don't doubt your mother loved you. She tried her best. For you. For Tali." I reach over, grab her hand and squeeze. "That's what mothers do."

"Tony . . ." I feel some more questions coming. "Are you lonely?"

"Sometimes. But nights like this, no."

She turns her head to the television indicating she's done talking about her mother for now. "You can press play again."

"I don't think you want to watch this."

"It's _Fight Club. _It's just what I need."

"Are you looking for a fight?"

"If I was, I can not talk about it. That's rule number one."

"Jesus, Dah-veed. We have a lot of rules to remember, don't we?"

She chuckles. "And I do not even know your rules. I do not know if I want to. Can imagine McGee's?"

"Rule number one for Timmy, 'You can always get a new plug, if need be, so take the computers.'"

"Oh, poor McGee – I thought it be, 'Don't forget the Nutter Butters'"

"That's a good one."

"I know. You are just upset you did not think of it. Do not worry, I will allow you to think you created it."

"You are being too kind . . . And yes, I will keep that in my pocket for the right moment."

"Poor McGee, not here to defend himself."

"He's used to it."

We are both laughing, clearing the air, getting rid of the tears, all while making new memories. "Tony, I do not want to be alone tonight."

"You're never alone." We are silent as we watch the rest of the movie. Sometimes, you don't have to say anything to know everything is going to be alright. Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing.


	13. Carry You

Thanks, C!

* * *

><p>Every day working at the MCRT, cases are different. That's what is fascinating about this job. Sure, some investigations take longer, some take you other countries; some, well, they knock you on your ass.<p>

Today started out an ordinary day. I got up, put my running clothes on, laced up my sneakers and headed out for my run. Cell phone in hand; the one time I forgot my phone and Gibbs' was trying to reach me, that didn't go over so well. I learned my lesson. I was running in the park and I felt my phone vibrate. I held it up and read the name. _Director Vance. _Fuck, this early. I better not have to ship anywhere. I immediately stop running and rip the earbuds out.

"Sir?" I try to say without sounding winded.

"DiNozzo, am I interrupting something?"

"Running."

"Well, this should make you stop. Run home and get in here. Gibbs' is on his way. Plane went down; Carrying six dead Marines." Click and he was gone.

Today was certainly different.

* * *

><p>I was standing over the charred bodies, documenting this scene by taking pictures. My eyes were lifting after every few clicks of the flash, to the fire, the burnt plane and those who had lost their lives. <em>Life is short. Appreciate me – <em>those phrases flashing through my mind. The families of the deceased have gone through enough having lost their loved ones in Afghanistan and some unlucky bastard has to tell them, 'sorry, you have to wait just a tad longer while we make sure your dead loved one is matched for DNA.' I couldn't look at the bodies anymore. I need some fresh air. We were outside, but the air was muddled with fire, flesh, and despair.

We sit and wait while the Duck Man, the autopsy gremlin, and Abby work out piecing this puzzle together. I take this opportunity to check out death statistics. I am genuinely concerned I may not be able to accomplish what I want in this life. Like I just told Timmy, we hitch rides on those transports. At any given time, that could have been us. Of course, he retorts it wasn't. It doesn't matter – life is short and I have to start appreciating it even more.

People of the church frighten me. It could be because after my mother died, the creepy priest came in to adminster last rites. The chapels at school always gave off a strange vibe, the reason being I was forced to go. This Lieutenant – Commander – Chaplin – Lady seems to see right through me and I don't like it. She's a little like Ziva in that regard. She seems to sticking around for this case. Let's see if she can figure out the real Anthony D. DiNozzo, Jr.

Still waiting for the results from Abby, we haven't gone home yet. Makes for a long day. I need something to occupy my time or else I'll be dreaming about being comfortable and watching a movie. The events of the last 24 hours have got me thinking that there are many things I have yet to accomplish in my life. If I don't start now, will I ever succeed in living a full life? I guess before this I thought my life was grand (Apparently not). Next thing I know, a word document is up on my computer screen and viola – The Bucket List was born.

Of course the first item, _Master the art of Kung Fu_, is something I've wanted to do since I was child. I mean come on – Bruce Lee wannabe, yes please. Some items, I've had in the back of mind for awhile. Other just came to me and I thought, "Why the hell didn't I think of the before?"

As I'm typing them, the wheels are turning and I realized toward the end of this list, there are two items on here, that I need to take care of much sooner. Which items those are, I'm keeping close my the chest, for now.

I hear a drawer open but think nothing of it until the sidekick states blantantly, "Come on, Tony. A Bucket List."

"Hey! No snooping, McSteveAustin. My life is none of your business."

So I hit the print and roll out of my chair, just as the crazy ninja runs over and grabs the copies from the printer. I shouldn't have printed two. I'm sure that McHacker would've figured a way to get the list anyway.

"You're writing about buckets?"

"It's a bucket list, Ziva. It's a list of things I'd like to accomplish before the end of the fourth quarter. Life is short. I've got start making it count." They glance at the list highlight a couple numbers they like and tease me. I've never been more excited to see the Boss Man. Ha, Ziva thought she could keep the list, huh. I don't think so. I stole it back on our way to MTAC. No further reading for her.

* * *

><p>No Marine is ever left behind. We seem to hit a snag – dogtags but no body. That is not good. Interestingly enough the code that we live by, the code that Marines live by can be blurred by the grandest intentions. Woman are barred from direct combat. But that did not stop Lieutenant Flores from fighting. I guess when you are that far away, protecting your unit – your family, you do what it takes.<p>

Gibbs' came down the stairs, looked at Ziva and said, "Wheels up at 0500, Ziver. Go home, pack and be ready. DiNozzo, McGee – you're on Afgahistan time now. Get some rest, too. You're gonna need it."

"Will do." I look at Ziva as she gathers her things up. I grab my backpack and escort her out.

We step on the elevator and look at each other. We don't have to say anything but me being me, I can't help it. "Drive you home?"

"That doesn't make sense, I have to come back."

"Then I'll drive you back."

"Gibbs' said to get some rest."

"Do you really think I'm going to be able to sleep knowing you're on a plane – like the one that just blew up - heading to fucking Afghanistan?"

"Fine, you can help me pack."

"Whoa, I said nothing about packing. I just said driving." I smirk at her.

"Then I guess that will do."

We quietly take the stairs up to her apartment. We don't really have anything to say. My mind keeps going to Somalia. Goddamn desert. I don't have the power or the energy to think about a repeat performance. Of course, nothing is going to happen to her. Gibbs' will not let anything happen to her. He will not be _one short_ for a second time. I just have to remember that they are going to meet the Marine unit. I guess it doesn't matter because they strike when no one expects it.

She is a light packer on missions. I imagine she may be more liberal when packing for weekends away, that's something I haven't figured out. I just take a seat on her couch as she is moving about her bedroom. I glance at the remote and just as I reach for it, she comes out and announces she's ready to go.

I drop her off. "Come back in one piece, please. Preferably alive."

"You have my word." And just like that, she's gone.

* * *

><p>"Anybody here? Cool Hand Luke, of course you knew that. I could've used you a few months ago, got my head scrambled pretty bad. Of course, I understand you're a busy guy. We haven't talked much. It's my bad. I've been doing the best I can down here, you know. For a DiNozzo. Hopefully, living up to my end of the bargain. You remember our bargain. It would be nice to hear from you. So, you have a plan? Anything you wanna share with me. How about you let me know I'm on the right track? How about you let me know I'm not talking to myself? You are so predictable. Well, I guess what we here - is failure to communicate."<p>

_I was standing in my place at the right side of the altar, waiting for Wendy to make her entrance for our rehearsal. There she was wearing a beautiful white sundress, carrying a small bouquet. She seemed to glide across the floor making it to her final destination next to me. I had a wide smile on my face. Tomorrow, she would be my wife. Mrs. Anthony DiNozzo. Except after the rehearsal, after the dinner – we were exchanging good-byes. I told her I'd see her tomorrow. She said she wouldn't, she couldn't do it. She said she thought she could. Perhaps, the dry run would cement her feelings. Not so much. She turned away and left me there. She didn't glance over her shoulder like they do in the movies. She didn't cry. She just left. _

_Between my intoxicated nights when I thought Ziva was dead. I would talk out loud to her, to God. Seeing who would answer first. That's when I made a bargain. I asked Him if he could bring her back, I would be in his gratitude. I wanted to believe she wasn't dead because I was still functioning – barely. I needed to make a bargain. Maybe it was another way to change to circumstances. His son rose from the dead, right then He could bring her back. The things you think of when intoxicated. I'm sure I would've eventually thought about it when I was sober. And I did. And she's back. _

I told the chaplain we had a lead then scooted out of the sanctuary as fast I could.

* * *

><p>When I got back, McGee told that Ziva was looking for me. I gave him a curious look. "MTAC"<p>

"Ah!" And with that, I ran up the stairs.

I sat down and secured the headphones. "Agent Dah-veed, you couldn't go two days without me." She looked visibly upset. "We found her, Tony. She is safe now."

"That's a good thing."

"The girls, though, they have been tortured. Little girls, Tony, because they wanted to be educated. One has cigarette burns on her entire body. The other had hot grease thrown in her face. Yet, they smile and are so full of life. It's amazing and heartbreaking all wrapped together."

"You helped save them, Ziva. You should be proud."

"There are so many others like them." She pauses and wipes a tear. "Also, we lost a Marine. Captain Quincy, I was with him when he took his last breath." I hear some footsteps behind Ziva.

"Ziva," Gibbs' says "Time to go home. Make sure you wash the Ohio State t-shirt before you give it back to DiNozzo. You know how he hates the sand."

She smiles. "I have to go. See you soon." The feed cuts out. Now I wait.

* * *

><p>"Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo doesn't get scared. I've jumped out of airplanes. Dead dropped onto aircraft carrier, and I've killed people, sweetheart - lots of them. I've gotten the plague. Kissed a transvestite. Been tortured by the best the Middle East has to offer."<p>

"And still you're shaking."

"Okay, it's time to face my fears. How bad can it be? Bring it on, Chaplin."

She opens the door and all I hear are the cries of children – babies and toddlers. Running around doing whatever they do. I take another step forward and stop, wanting to turn around and run out but I can't. So I just continue to stand there and take it all in. All of sudden this little girl runs at me with paint on her hands. She hugs my leg. I become a little more apprehesive, I can feel my heart beat faster. Just like that, the little girl disengages. Look at that, I'm still alive. I didn't drop dead. Anthony DiNozzo - 1. Fear – 0.

Now that it's over. My breath returns to normal as I step off the elevator back in the squad room.

* * *

><p>"You let a child hug you?" Ziva asks like it's the absurd.<p>

"I was facing my biggest fear."

She laughs, "Of all things in this world, children frighten you the most."

"She ruined my suit."

"Fingerpaints are water based. Your suit will survive. And DiNozzo, the orange handprints gives it something extra."

"Thanks, Boss."

* * *

><p>Ziva didn't want to go alone. So we are driving to the bay area of Maryland, there is a motel she insisted we stay at. I didn't argue – she's been reflecting on life since returning to from Afghanistan.<p>

She turns and looks at me. There is it. The Inn at Perry Cabin. I pull the car into a spot and we proceed to the front desk. The bell on the door rings as we enter.

"Can I help you?"

"Mrs. Quincy?" Ziva asks.

"Yes."

"My name is Agent Ziva David. I was with your son when he died in Afghanistan." Mrs. Quincy comes from behind the counter and hugs Ziva. "I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am."

Mrs. Quincy tries to speak through the tears and the hiccups. "Thank you. For coming."

Ziva reaches in her pocket and pulls out a picture. Lietenant Flores is hugging the two girls. "Your son died protecting these three. He has given them another opportunity to change the world. You should be proud, Mrs. Quincy. He wanted me to tell you and your husband that he loved you."

"We love him, too. And Ziva, thank you from the bottom of my heart for this picture."

"He died a hero. Don't forget that."

"I won't."

She turned around, gave me the look and squeezed my hand.

Semper Fi.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading! <strong>


	14. Even

My father has always demonstrated his lack of restraint when it come to a beautiful woman. His type – anyone really, no preference to hair color (unlike Gibbs), or age, pretty much just any woman who would obligingly take the expensive glass of wine offered, or the woman who would laugh at his attempt at humor and compliments, or a woman who may or may not pretend to be interested in what he had to say.

My father's image is important to him – so whether he has the disposable income or not, he continues on renting a Rolls-Royce, summer-ing the south of France, living in The Hampton's, traveling to exotic locations. I get it, that's the kind of life he wants to lead.

But the thing is I know. I know, he struggles to keep it up. Last year, I paid for his hotel room while he was visiting. I paid for his flight heading to Monte Carlo. He needs to realize this is going to catch up with him. I don't know how much longer I can help him. I mean, what message does that send? Don't worry, Dad. I'll keep working to pay for your extravagant life. Nope, I can't do it.

* * *

><p>My father called to tell me he was in town and would be remiss if we didn't see each other for dinner. I willingly accepted this statement and told Senior to call me about where to meet.<p>

Two days went by. No phone call. I made excuses for him, again. Maybe he forgot, maybe he got tied up with work, maybe he found a woman to be with and is holed up in some hotel.

I called him several times. He never picked up. Should I have worried? No, wasn't the first time happened; sure as hell wouldn't be the last. This is our relationship.

* * *

><p>Maybe I stretched my Senior Field Agent credentials when I told Ziva she had the distinct pleasure of inputting cold cases into the computer. Oh, technology! How I love thee.<p>

Boss Man announces we have a dead Naval Officer as we grab our gear to head out. Luckily, a case takes precedence so she'll have those white boxes to sift through when we are done. Inputting cases is so slow and arduous. I'm not great with computers but imagining not having to deal with the cold cases makes me a bit weepy with joy.

* * *

><p>We get to the crime scene, another normal day until I hear him. "Junior, Thank God you're here."<p>

The local LEO confirms he was the guy in the car. Fuck. Interestingly enough, this is not the first time he's been in trouble like this. I immediately start walking over to my father but Gibbs' is there to stop me. I know he's doing his job, really. When McGee walks my handcuffed father by me all I can do is sigh, shake my head and think, _What the fuck? He couldn't have done it, right? _

By the way, I'd like to thank my father for having to sit out this case and getting to enter the cold-cases into the database. _Oh, Dad. _

* * *

><p>No one turns down cake. Unless. . . well I don't want to think about those poor people who can't have it or refuse to. I mean come on, whether it's chocolate, vanilla (golden vanilla is better than the white), the funfetti with the bits of color in it. Carrot cake though, with the raisins – who wants raisins in cake, save those for bread or bagels.<p>

The frosting is what makes the cake. The bakeries know how to make a mean frosting. Grocery store cake frosting always have that weird taste. (Maybe that's the only time I would refuse cake. No, I'd just scrape that crap off.)

I got an email from Hollander in HR saying it was her birthday and she had cake. Bingo – got an idea. Dorneget was guarding the Interrogation door where my father while we, _they_, figured out what was going on. I thought I'd be nice and bring the agent a piece. He took it as I knew he would. Then, I casually mention my need to speak with my father. He denies it with a mouthful of cake. _Nice try, Dorneget._

This means I have to bring out the big guns from the arsenal. I didn't want to but he left me with no choice.

"Gibbs said to watch out. Especially, you."

"I guess I'd have to tell him about your little antics at the Halloween party last month with Susan Grady from Polygraph down in the copy room. Huh?" Good, I'm making him uncomfortable. "She was dressed a nun. You were dressed as Leroy Jethro Gibbs with the little silver wig." I just continue to watch his demeanor shift and I've got him right where I want him.

He quietly utters, "No one knew about that."

"I know. DeNiro. DiNozzo. I'm watching." And that's how it's done.

My father always thinks the next deal is the big one. I've been listening to this speech for years now. Nothing changes. Yet, I'm the calm one when shit like this goes down. He can't remember a godamn thing. Sometimes I feel like the only adult here. He has been running around the world. Running from his problems, his life and his son. He's never going to stop, though. This is who he is. I know this.

* * *

><p>"Do you think Gibbs would do it?" I can picture Ziva thinking about it before she says anything.<p>

"Do what?"

"Shoot my father for saying something stupid."

"No."

"Did you say that because you believe it or did you say that to make me feel better?"

"To make you feel better . . . did it?"

"Maybe a little."

"Are you still inputting those cold case files?"

I turn my head. "Can you see me?"

I hear a laugh from the other side of the phone. "No, but I know how you operate. Did you forget that? I didn't think you'd actually do it."

"I can't do all your work for you, Zee-vah."

"Well, I just made your favorite meal so you can stop pretend working and come eat."

"You don't need to tell me twice." I hang up and grab my coat.

"I didn't." And she hangs up.

* * *

><p>Hotel my father was supposedly staying at said that he checked out. Great – there he goes again. No notice, no good-bye, no nothing. I went to Gibbs' house because, well he knows the frustration I feel when dealing with my father. He's known about it for ten years. Gibbs just lets me talk. I finally say out loud that I love my father. Something I've felt inside but have never vocalized before.<p>

So, it's a shock when I hear my father behind me. I turn around and there he is. Technically, he didn't leave. He didn't disappear. He stands there in an apron. This can't be good. Gibbs must have put him to work. You show up unexpected at his house, you have to cook. It's an unspoken rule. It's better than the canned beans he usually eats.

My father decided to cook a turkey dinner, you know with Thanksgiving in a couple days, that means we get DiNozzo family time. I'll just bring him to Ducky's with the rest of the crew because well, there are some things a man just can't run away from.


	15. Lightning

Luckily, my father had to be in Saint Croix so I would be alone for Christmas. Plus, we did spend Thanksgiving together. I have been celebrating without him for years. But, one this I do is keep up DiNozzo family tradition; I'm sitting here, eating my caramel corn and watching a classic Christmas movie.

Donna Reed in her hayday. James Stewart, his distinctive voice. As George Bailey, he spends his time wondering if he's done the right things in his life. Questioning what he knows. Like what I'm doing now.

My phone rings – Gibbs. "Pause _It's a Wonderful Life _and get in here." Guess we drew the short straw.

"On it, Boss." A wonderful life it is not right now.

* * *

><p>I'm feeling good until I see McTinyTim and Ziva looking way to happy to be at work, especially today, She's holding it - the fucking Christmas card from Wendy. The card I should have just thrown out. Yet, I couldn't.<p>

"You did not tell us Wendy sent you a Christmas card?"

"Wendy, who?" Like I don't know.

"Your Wendy. Baltimore Wendy" Really, Timmy. I know.

"Your former fiancee Wendy." Yup, got that too.

"Oh yeah, that. What are you doing reading my Christmas cards?"

"It was pinned on the wall behind your desk."

"People usually do that so others can enjoy them."

"I thought you and Wendy haven't talked in. . ."

" . . . Nine years. What's your point?" The night she said she wasn't going to marry me the next day.

Ziva re-opens the card and gazes over Wendy's long-ish note. She wants to highlight some more. "So it says here that she and her ex-husband got divorced last year."

"I read that." I've re-read the entire fucking card a bunch of times and now Ziva is quoting information I already memorized. "That's too bad. Very sad."

"And she invited you to Christmas brunch tomorrow. With her and her seven year-old son, Fred."

"So, you gonna go?"

"No, I think I'm going to relegate that part of my life the Christmas past."

Sure, I think of her from time to time. Wondering why it didn't work out. Wondering why she decided to wait until our rehearsal to tell me she didn't want to go through with it. I mean how long did she think about not marrying me? Did she want to say yes or was it because she felt she had to? Is it the type of thing you decided overnight, given how long we were together? Do you ever really know someone as well as you think you do? Yes, we haven't spoken in nine years. That kind of incident changes a man. Makes him cautious, too cautious maybe. Puts thoughts in his head, he'll never be good enough. Because of this I have never asked another person to marry me.

* * *

><p>I sit at my desk holding Wendy's card. I open and glance at it. <em>Divorced. Brunch. It would be wonderful to see you again. Things to discuss. Baltimore. <em>Things I don't want to think about with her. What do I have to lose? Everything, again. What happens if I was George Bailey talking to Clarence? What would he show me? My regrets; paths I didn't take, things I didn't say, a life I didn't lead. No kids, no wife. Me, movies and wine. Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?

I risk my life everyday for my job. I love what I do. I will never regret bringing Ziva back. I don't give it a second thought – I tried to live without her. I couldn't do it. It's not possible. Wendy, well I've lived without her for nine years. She wants to waltz in, send me a card and rekindle a flame that she put out. I don't think so. Yet, I'm utterly intrigued by her, this card, the alternate life she led. I imagine that my life would be different if we got married. I wouldn't be here holding a card. Cards we sent out would have matching ugly sweaters; us sitting front of the fireplace, stocking hanging down the mantle, kids in our laps.

The other is a stark contrast; Ziva would give in to some Christmas spirit. Though, some Jewish traditions would be instilled too. Having children jumping on our laps laughing as Mama flubs an idiom. Her laugh, her smile and her eyes radiating love. Papa Gibbs bringing gifts, sharing hugs and wooden sleds. Bourbon, boats and woodworking would come when they are much older.

Reality. Neither. Because I haven't figured out a balance.

* * *

><p><em>I sat at the curb in front of Wendy's house for 20 minutes. I had inclination to unbuckle, open the door and walk up the path to her house. I debated, really. I played a game on my phone. I deleted out contacts I haven't spoken to in a long time. I did everything I could not to get out of the car. So I turned the key and headed home. <em>

I thought about calling Ziva but I didn't know if CI-Ray finally emerged from the shadows. So, I went to Gibbs. He was downstairs fixing up a pretty pink bike complete with tassels for Amira. He looks after Mike Franks' family now. He has somewhere to be. I guess I did too. Home, alone.

I stood in Gibbs' basement holding two cups. One for family and one for job. Is there a secret to how they fit into one cup? Our job demands a lot of our time. My family would have to understand that. I'd have to miss baseball games, plays, ballet recitals. Maybe that's why I never had a family. I think back to the serious relationships I've had - Wendy, Jeanne, EJ (maybe) – pathetic, right. I could never give myself to them completely. Maybe I wasn't supposed to. I gave myself away to someone I've never had to courage to tell. What does that say about me? Am I ever going to be happy? Or is Gibbs right?

"You're not going to find what you're looking for down here, DiNozzo."

Where the fuck am I going to find it? I am completely in love with someone who didn't know – maybe she did. We are not so good at talking about each other. We talk around it, it works for us. Well for me, anyway. But she's in a relationship with a man who is hardly there and when he is, it's for short interludes. I'm here everyday. I have been since day one. Perhaps that's what Gibbs is talking about – not being like him. Say what you feel. You never know when it's the last time you'll talk, the last time you kiss, hug, or do anything together.

_Life is short. _

If you can't say it at Christmas, when can you, eh?


	16. Bang Bang

She was shot. I thought she was dead. I saw it with my own eyes. If she wasn't, why didn't she come over and check on me. That's what you do when an agent is shot near you. Am I wrong? Maybe she didn't care. When I got up and looked for her she was gone. I did what I was supposed to.

So when I saw her jump down from the truck, I was little surprised to see her.

Yes, a missing person is different; you are still actively looking for that person. Seeing as this case is anything but ordinary, I didn't give up. I poured over records, leads, anything that could tell me where she was. But at a certain point, you give up. There is no information, no other witnesses, no more gut feelings, you just have to walk away. Maybe, if you're lucky – somewhere down the road you find something.

I have repeated many times that I hate Special Operations especially those directly from SecNav. There always seems to be pieces missing, that we don't see or they surface weeks, months and sometimes, years later.

But here she was, Special Agent Erica Jane Barrett, trying to explain why she was on the run. I was just pissed that she didn't think she could reach out. She didn't trust me. I remembered Belva-fucking-Lockwood. I remembered Naples and the pizza. She didn't trust me. Some relationship that was.

What's interesting though, is that when Ziva and I had said everything we needed to, we left each other, our actions were justified – yet, I didn't believe that she could be dead. No way, no how. I mean, Ziva David doesn't lose fights, she doesn't concede, she doesn't give up and she most certainly doesn't disappear like the wind.

I don't know why I continually feel the need to compare these two. Maybe it's just me. I say compare lightly, because, well Ziva is who I use for the measure. No one will ever do but her.

* * *

><p>"You never bring a knife to a gun fight."<p>

"James Bond?"

"Untouchables. 1987. Connery won an Academy Award for that."

"I liked him in Xanadu."

"You know one of these days, I'd like to actually meet someone who appreciates movies the way I do. Or least appreciates the way I appreciate them."

For a moment, I'm back to case from a year ago. Leona Phelps was bilking the Navy for millions. Ziva and I were on surveillance detail and Gibbs came to tell us the heist already happened. He had the itemized list of goods from the Phelps estate. Ziva had taken a look at the list and became so excited in a way I had never seen.

"_Uhh. It belonged to William Faulkner. I loved his writing." A sound I rarely heard escaped her mouth as she realized who the desk had once belonged to. _

"_Total genius."_

"_Yesssss! I was worth learning English for. Just for _The Sound and The Fury_. Or that chapter in _As I Lay Dying_, you know the one, the five words where Vardaman says, 'My mother is a fish.'" The look on her face was priceless. _

"_I don't really like his books that much. But I'm a big fan of the movies that he made based on other people's books like _The Big Sleep_ and _To Have and Have Not_. I mean he gave us Bogie and Bacall. God Bless You, William Faulkner."_

_That night we came to an understanding that William Faulkner had touched both our lives in significantly different ways but we would always appreciate that fact about each other. _

Hearing EJ's voice brings me back to reality. "She does, Tony."

"Who?" Like I didn't know.

"Ziva."

I laugh. "Agent Ziva David believes that _Pirates of the Carribean _is a cinema classic."

"I'm not talking about movies, Tony. I'm talking about you. She cares."

"What's the matter with you? We're co-workers. We're teammates. We have each other's backs."

"Exactly."

For fuck's sake, even EJ has noticed something. Maybe, that's why I knew it would never work. Maybe it's time to stop running.

* * *

><p>"Agent Cruz seems to be communication issues."<p>

"I'm losing my patience."

"As you well should."

"You know, you and I – we have a lot in common in that respect."

"You think?"

"I don't think. I know."

"Well then, I'm glad to have someone in my life who is as romantically dysfunctional as I am?"

"Agent David, do you really consider me to be in your life?" I stare into her eyes waiting for a confirmation that doesn't come. She just looks at me and has a crooked smile. _Do you really consider me to be in your life?I ponder this – of course I'm in her life. Whatever definition it is currently, fine. _

The phone rings while we are having this moment. Of course, CI-Ray would call now. I bet he has the placed bugged or cameras on her desk. The Agency is pretty sneaky.

She picks the phone and looks at then looks up at me, "What am I supposed to say?"

What else is there but, "say hello"

I stay planted on the edge of her desk, waiting for her phone call with CI-Ray to be over. I hear her say, "Ray – Yes, I can talk." She has what seems to be a brief conversation with him especially after eight weeks, excuse me seven, of not speaking.

She hangs up and head back over to me, "Are you ready?"

"Of course, just waiting on you. That conversation didn't last too long."

"He was informing me he will be visiting soon. We have much to discuss then."

So, wait let me get this straight; after seven weeks of no talking, no texting, no emailing after almost saying good-bye because she doesn't want to wait anymore. CI-Ray calls and BOOM, he says he coming to visit and that absolves him from fucking blantantly ignoring her. Fuck that.

She grabs her bag and looks at me. "After you . . ." I say as I almost reach up and touch her back. The elevator dings. I'm going to need a strong drink, maybe two.

* * *

><p>We grab our usual seats at the bar. Brett sees us and brings over the usual. "You guys eating tonight?"<p>

I look to Ziva, "Answer the man."

"It would not hurt to look at menu, I suppose." Brett looks like he expects her response as he puts down the menu in front of her. He turns and walks away. Ziva doesn't even look at the menu. She just turns to look at me and says nothing.

"Something on your mind, David?"

"I love Ray, really. But I would like to go a week having him here. Right now, I would settle for having the ability to communicate with him everyday. You know, like you and EJ working together, talking everyday, even going home at night. Perhaps, I need someone who is around more often. I am fully aware that his job entails a veil of secrecy, maybe I need to re-evaluate the situation."

"Do you and Ray talk about your relationship when you get the chance to?"

"Not really, usually we are just so thrilled to have a few days together we do not let that interfere."

"I'm not usually a fan of the talks but sometimes that is what it comes down to. Because if you can't say what you mean – you'll just keep repeating the pattern."

"When did you become so wise on this subject?"

"Me? I wouldn't say wise. I have experienced many dreaded relationship talks, Ziva. I do have a sensitive side. I'm not all rock, you know."

"So, what would you do?"

"I think that there is a person for each of us. I thought I had found her in Baltimore, clearly she didn't feel the same way. Another time, I fell hard for someone I was ordered to gain trust from – that took time to get over. Then, I think about the girl who I broke rules for, the girl who didn't actually need something from me. So, now I sit here with my best friend still clinging for the chance to fill both cups."

"Both cups?"

"Work and family. It's a balance I've yet to manage."

"Well, I don't have that balance either. Maybe my time has passed."

"Have you thought about a future with CI-Ray?"

"What if I say not really?"

"Then you, my friend, need to keep searching."

"What if I do not want to keep searching? What if I am done with that? What I think it may be the last person I would expect it to be?"

"You deserve to happy, Ziva. You owe it yourself. You can't keep letting moments pass you by. No regrets."

"No regrets, huh. I'll have to try that."

Regrets, I have them. Sure, maybe I should start acting on my own fucking advice. Is this the time to tell her? Nope. When will the time be? Maybe when she says good-bye to CI-Ray. She will, right? She doesn't seem to me like she would surrender and settle. I suppose if she does and she claims she happy, I have to be happy for her. I guess I'll be leading myself down the rabbit hole. I may just fall to have it be done with. Maybe that's what I'm doing surrounding myself with people I'd give me own life for.

I'm talking about giving up a shot at happily ever after because the ninja I want may choose someone else.

That which does not kill you, makes you stronger.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading - have a couple chapters left! <strong>


	17. Ride A Tear

Shit. My ninja-is-close-to-me sense is tingling – that is never good. She does not seem happy when she appears behind me. She wants McGeek to block a secure government line. Mayday– The blockee seems to have called everyone, even the Boss Man. Who does he think he is? CI-Ray, please. He really knows how to push Ziva's buttons; so do I but, man, she's never blocked my calls. I wonder what he did piss her off so much.

* * *

><p>CI-Ray seems to think that I can talk to Ziva. I mean I am like a brother to her, right? She'll listen to me. Oh, silly CI-Ray. I told him to just tell her himself. I've never talked to this much to him. He's much more lucid talking about what is on his mind and how he feels. (Maybe I admire him for it. I will think about this.) You never stand a girl up, especially one Ziva David – unless you really don't like her.<p>

He entrusted me with proposal intentions. So, the code is hereby enacted. I can't tell anyone about this – all men live by this code. Bastard. I don't want to know about their relationship from both sides. I was quite happy only hearing Ziva's point of view because I was able to dislike Ray. Doesn't mean I like him more now. No, I just have to act like I give a fuck.

* * *

><p>When Detective Nick Burris plows through all the local LEO's to catch one more glimpse of his wife. His partner is powerless to stop him. We question the partner – he looked up to the Burris' relationship. They were happy and still in love. It's rare feat in the type of job we do.<p>

Burris knows how to make an entrance. He's back and he wants answers. We all do. I think back to when I thought Ziva was dead. I didn't have time to grieve at work. I couldn't show my breakdown. He does it with no remorse. But I'm lucky, because she is still here.

Burris doesn't let up. He is another example to me of not having what I want. He was a great detective and Maya had her job as Naval Attache, taking her around the world. But they always made time for each other. As I stand with Ziva, watching Gibbs and Nick talk, it makes me think of what I could lose. I wonder if she's thinking of her and Ray. What if she makes this mistake? What is she has regrets marrying him? Does she know how much this hurts? I'll always regret not telling her.

Gibbs doesn't know what else to do with Burris. I volunteer to talk to him. He shares similar sentiments, about the work becoming all your life. He was lucky though. He has both cups. Family and having a job he loves that he gets to work at everyday. Sure, after a while – a disconnection will occur, it doesn't mean you love your job less it just means that another part of life can open up. The other cup.

I was just about to leave when Nick, handed me a piece of paper. He shrugged and said he didn't recognize the name. _R. Cruz. _

You have to be fucking kidding me. He didn't come to DC just for Ziva. He couldn't. Now, I have to call Ziva and tell her. She's very quiet on the phone. I don't have to see her to know she's pissed. She is probably standing there trying so hard she doesn't give up any emotions. She tells me she'll go alone. I have to let her. This hurts me because it hurts her.

* * *

><p>I overhear Ziva on the phone saying, "Sure, Ray." She looks at me as I come down the stairs, renting a jet; how cliché. A phone to Mom and Dad Cruz won't do. An email, a Skype session – come on.<p>

She thinks about saying yes because she doesn't want to live regrets. Well, la-di-fucking-da. No one wants to live with regrets. Apparently, I might have to. I will because she'll be happy – I may have to let her go. I don't know if I can – everything will shift. I don't know if I'm ready for life change.

I wonder what Eli David would think of his darling daughter marrying CI-Ray. Actually, I don't doubt they know each other. I wonder if the Boss Man really likes him. Gibbs was vocal about mine and EJ's relationship, maybe because of the whole Rule Number 12. But I don't think he's ever said anything to Ziva about it. She would have told me, right? Ziva is going to do what she wants anyway.

* * *

><p>There is a unwritten rule – when discussing pertinent case information, you don't leave the Squad Room. But Ziva noticed something out of ordinary and down the elevator banks she goes. I watch her as she leaves, I contemplate going after her but dealing with Gibbs is not something I want to get involved with now. Gibbs follows her but comes right back.<p>

I look at McGee and then to Gibbs, "Everything alright, Boss?"

"She has something to do." That ends that conversation.

Ziva comes back about 10 minutes later. She had the I-can-kill-someone-with-my-bare-hands-right-now look. She grabs her coat and heads to the other elevator. Gibbs tells Ziva, he'll drive and he's off too. I look at Tim, again. He just shrugs. But once they are on the elevator, he calls Abby.

"It was Ray's number."

"Not good, Tim. Not good."

"I didn't think it was."

I wish that I could have been there with her. I imagine she'll make him bleed, to be a fly on the wall then. Am I a bad person because I like the fact it was Ray? Yes, I thought so. But I still ache for Burris, because he lost his wife, his partner. She didn't need to die. She was collateral damage.

* * *

><p>Nick Burris came in to thank you for all of our work. He wanted Ray's name and Ziva gave it to him. We laughed when he asked us how long we'd been together. I wish I could have said years. But he left me with something - he said to cherish the time we have together because we never know when we will need someone to be there. I need her everyday.<p>

I walk Ziva to her car after we leave Nick. "Are you going to be alright?"

"I sure know how to pick them."

"You just haven't found the right guy. Do you want to grab a bite or do you need alone time?"

"Tony, you are the only person I can be around and not have to say a word to. I can be myself with you."

"Well, I kinda dig the Ziva you are now – even sometimes miss the ninja."

"So, I will call for pizza and meet you at home."

"Mine or yours? Make sure you ask for the red pepper. You always forget."

"Mine. I bought some for you, Tony. I do not need to listen to you groan about not having it."

"Smart move. It only took a few years."

"True. I am still learning. When it comes to food, I do not want to be in your way."

"Just food?"

"No, there are others quirks, but food seems to be most important."

* * *

><p>Ziva tells me about the proposal over pizza. "Yes, he used the phrase now or never."<p>

I stopped her, I couldn't hear anymore. "That's a big no – no. You never ask a girl to marry you if there is chance she'll say no. Did you ever discuss it?"

"A little. At some point you begin to mention the future but deep down you know it will never work out. You think about breaking it off when the future is mentioned but you know the good times are surpassing your need to get out. The flipside though, if you do not voice your concerns you end up becoming angry at the thought of a future with that person. Maybe being apart made those images fade. But when he came back, I thought giving in would quiet them. I suppose that is not the case. . . You never told me about the end of you and Wendy."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, it will be good for you."

"We had just finished the rehearsal dinner. She said she wants a quick word. I thought she wanted to talk about speeches or something. She took my hands and looked into my eyes, with a straight face she said she couldn't go through with it. She said she loved me but not enough to get married. I remember taking my hands back. I had nothing to say to her – she turned to leave and that was it. She went to enjoy the rehearsal dinner for the non-existent wedding. I didn't follow her. I just left. But it got me thinking – did everyone at the rehearsal know about this? Someone must have known. What did she say? I couldn't go through with it. I always wondered how that played out. I was angry because I was standing up there on what was supposed to be the eve of the happiest day of my life. She made me look like a complete fucking idiot – oblivious to the issues I didn't know we had. So, that my dear friend is why I am careful now." I look at her and reach hand under her chin. "You're supposed to be excited at the possibility of spending your life with someone. You are supposed to talk about having a house, kids, a dog and yes, maybe even a wagon. It's not supposed to scare you. When you can envision holding hands with that person around the yard while the kid and the dog are playing in front of you. You can picture it all. Don't get me wrong, there may be some tough times but the are dwarfed compared to the good times. Then you know – you shouldn't let that person go."

She looks at me with clouded eyes. "Tony, I am sorry. It must have hurt so much."

"It was nine and half years ago, Ziva. I've closed myself off from that aspect of my life. But I'll have to think I will find the right person."

"You still remember it like it was yesterday."

"It changes a man. There are other events I remember more vividly, Ziva. It's all part of life, eh? Were you actually going to marry Ray?"

"In hindsight, there were many secrets. I do not think I could have lived my life wondering what version of Ray I was with at the time. We were not the right fit."

She gets up, bringing her wine glass with her. "More?" I shake my head as I get up and bring the dishes into the kitchen.

"Just bring the bottle, David." I say laughing as I load the dishwasher. "I think we will need it."

"Just one?" She laughs. She laughs a fucking laugh I haven't seen or heard for some time.

"Well, I have to drive home."

"No, you do not. Tomorrow is Saturday – we do not have to work. Yet, anyway."

"How can I say no?"

"You cannot."

* * *

><p>We make our way back to the couch. Wine glasses filled. Bottles on the table. Another classic movie, Ziva has never seen – meaning there will the pauses for questions, explanations and thoughts. A few times, she was laughing at parts that weren't meant to funny.<p>

"And this Annie Wilkes character won an Oscar for this?"

"Her name is Kathy Bates and yes, she did."

"You know there are more practical ways to make someone, like Paul, write a novel than to hold up a knife."

"I'm sure in your version, he's already re-writing."

"Of course."

This is the first Friday night in long time that feels just right.

It's time to stop pretending.


	18. Bats

**A/N - Thanks to Cindy for dealing my crazy emails and Skype conversations.**

**Here it is - the last chapter. I thought this was a good stopping point. What do I know?**

**Thanks for reading.**

* * *

><p>Growing up, I never got into comics that much but Christopher Reeve as Superman and Adam West as Batman in the first movie adaptations made me want to be a superhero. Sure, some will say you either love Batman or you love Superman, but not both. I don't even want to talk about Spiderman.<p>

Batman AKA Bruce Wayne was seeking revenge after having witnessed the murder of his parents at a young age. Bruce, the billionaire playboy and philanthropist – he just wanted justice. To me, Batman is special. He didn't have innate superpowers. He had to acquire all these skills because he wasn't born with them like Superman. Everyday, he went up against criminals and villains, all while trying to be the best man he could be. Though, I suppose the suits made the ladies swoon. You can be flying all around or fending of animals and other creatures in a Zenga suit. Interestingly enough, Batman and Superman's leading ladies were reporters. My leading lady is a ninja.

I guess there is a little Batman in all of us. Most people just want to do the right thing.

* * *

><p>Running into Wendy was not how I expected my day to start out. Of course, she looks great – some things don't change. What was there to say to her? <em>Thanks for calling off our engagement. Why aren't you still a teacher? Why are you here?<em>

I'm the liaison for Wendy on this case. Thanks, Boss. I maintain my composure until I see Gibbs coming down the stairs. I grab his arm like I'm not going to make it. I whisper, "You were there when it went south." Throwing a file at my chest is his response; meaning, suck it up, do your job and be done with it. Yeah, on it, Boss.

The day goes by in a blur as I have to be with Wendy all day. This is worse than being stuck at the safe house with EJ. As Senior Field Agent, it's my duty to make sure she and her son will be in a safe place. We arrive at her house with no real conversation on the way there. Trust me, I'm a talker. But I think I used up everything I had left already.

She asks if I'm hungry, I decline the offer. And it's like all these memories come back. She seems to remember the good times, things about me I may have forgotten. Maybe I've just changed. People have a tendency to do that.

And then, we kiss. It just sort of happened. God, it felt good to get one last kiss but I feel so fucking guilty. I know it seems irrational but the only person I want to kiss is Ziva. And Wendy sure as hell ain't her. Fuck

McHungry and I are staking out the superhero bunch. He knows right away something is wrong. He notices her lipstick shade. Fuck. Luckily, I didn't see Ziva – she'd ask questions I don't want to answer. Yet.

I suppose I have been pensive lately. Thinking of how my life could be different. Imagining if I stayed in Baltimore, what would have become of me? _The past is the past_. And I can't continue to dwell. I just have to focus on living my life the best way I know how.

* * *

><p>"I invited you because I wanted to see you. . . . Your turn."<p>

"Why?"

"Because we are taking turns and now it's your turn."

"No. That is not what I meant." I step closer to her for some reason. "And you know it."

She sighs and walks around the table. "You want to know why I left." Seems like we've only been talking in circles lately.

"I want to know why you said yes to me when the answer was really no. I want to know why you waited until the very last minute to tell me the truth; and most of all, my runaway bride, I would like to know why."

"Would it make a difference know if you weren't so sad and so lonely? You wouldn't even be wondering."

I do a three-sixty turn. It felt right, "Sad and lonely? You have me confused with Bosco . . . Would you like to see my little black e-book?"

"Show me whatever you like. It's not going to change what I see with my own eyes. You should tell her how you feel – whoever she is."

Talking about how you feel about someone should be easy, right. You should never wait, right. The moment could pass you by. "A. Not going to happen. B. Get out of my head. C. Answer the question."

"I left because I wasn't ready to meet the one. And you were the one."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You sure? 'Cause from what I see, you spent the last nine and half years avoiding real relationships. Ours was broken first – which is why I left my hero cop and married a stockbroker who cared more about money than people. I wasn't ready to meet the one when we met, Tony. But I sent you that invitation because I am now."

And just like that, she leaves me again; only this time she told me exactly how she felt. It was a better sayonara than that of nine years ago.

I stand in the flower shop for a few minutes. I look around at the all the bouquets, the single flowers and the plants. These flowers will make someone's day a little brighter, a little happier and a little more fragrant.

I contemplate bringing sunshine into someone's life today – but I suppose that can be done with or without flowers. Will I regret it? No, because for the first time in a very long time, I am being completely honest with myself.

I have to start somewhere, right?

* * *

><p>I leave the flower shop and head to Ziva's. I debate calling her first, but I stand outside her door for a second; what if she's not there, what if she's entertaining? Oh well! - I knock and I wait. I hear the locks turning and the door opens. She smiles as she stands there in a tank-top and yoga pants with her hair in curls. Looking like she's in for a night of relaxation.<p>

"I wondered what your night would become." She hasn't invited me in yet, she stands with her left shoulder on the door and her hand grasping the doorknob.

"You did?"

"Yes, I know you went to see Wendy." As if I have something to hide. "How did that go?"

"She said that I was the one."

"So, so. . ." She seems flummoxed, "you are going to reconcile?"

"No, Zee-vah. I don't feel that way about Wendy anymore. It's been nine and half fucking years. I got the closure I needed, that the breakup wasn't about me. Plus, I gave my heart away a long time ago." I let out a big sigh. Breathe, big boy. It's Ziva. "I'm tired of pretending."

She has a look on her face that I can't discern. I can tell she wants to ask 'Who?' but she seems to be afraid of the answer.

"When did you know?"

She says nothing as she moves out the doorway. I grab her hand and look into her eyes. _Tell her. Tell her. Tell her. _

"A long time ago, I was a goner. I knew for sure when I thought I lost you. Nothing made sense, when you weren't here. Nothing. I depend on you for more than you think. Before that, when I kissed you, I didn't want to stop. Do you know that every fucking day I have to fight myself for you? Zee-vah, I still have nightmares from Somalia, thinking I might not get to you. That I may only find your body. Thinking I may never get to tell you I'm sorry. Or how I think of Paris - that night, just the two of us. Do I regret that? No. Do you? I don't know because we've never discussed it." I grab her other hand, "I've almost lost you a handful of times. I'm fully aware you are more than capable of taking care of yourself. But there is always doubt, you may not come back. And I can't bear that. I want it all. The house. The kids. The dog. You and me.

"What about the rules?"

"There are always exceptions."

"Tony, do you not think I have feelings? Do you think I do not remember Somalia or Paris? You saved me, Tony. You. You were the only one who came for me." She steps closer to me. "You. I knew you would. I have some . . . you and Gibbs call them gut feelings . . .feelings about it. I told you that you were my significant other, which means everything to me. Watching you leave Israel was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. But I had orders from my father and I had to obey them. I got home and I cried, oh did I cry. I hoped you would call me, but my phone never rang. I thought about calling you but I did not think you would have anything to say to me. During that mission, I did not know if I would see you again." She puts her hand on my face. "I did not think I would be able to look into your eyes, or see you smile or hear some ridiculous movie quote or trivia. I carried your face with me. I still do. I remember thinking that I was dreaming when that burlap sack was taken off my head. I was not. You were there. You said you could not live without me. In that moment, I knew I could not live without you."

She steps into my arms. "What happens now?"

I don't say a word, I just kiss her. "What we do best?"

"A movie, food and wine?"

"I was thinking something more romantic."

"Like Paris?"

"It is Valentine's Day."

"Everyday should be Valentine's Day if you are with someone you love."

"Are you saying you love me, Dah-veed?"

She laughs. "Did I say anything about love?"

"I must be hearing things."

"I hope we do not need to get you hearing aids soon."

"Ouch. That was low."

"Yet somewhat accurate."

We make our way to the couch, I'm still chuckling. Pfft. I don't need hearing aids, right. Maybe I can blame Gibbs. I don't think those headslaps help at all. Interestingly enough two sets of plates, silverware and wine glasses are already on the coffee table. "How did you know?"

"I just did."

"That's not an acceptable answer."

"I knew yesterday, when Wendy and I were in the observation room. You were uncomfortable with both of us there. Yet, you put your hand on my arm – silently asking me to stay. I knew."

"What?"

"Your eyes, Tony. Your eyes do not lie."

"That's good to know."

She smiles and presses play. She leans into me, kisses me cheek and says, "Here's looking at you, kid."


End file.
